


Us Ones Inbetween

by pletzel



Category: Glee
Genre: Alive Finn Hudson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic Fluff, Finn and Kurt are basically an old married couple, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Minor Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Step-Sibling Incest, pansexual Finn Hudson, this fic is full of cheesy tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rachel's desperate attempts to gain admission to NYADA result in a restraining order, she's forced to put her New York plans on hold and stay in Lima to coach Glee. At least that way, she'll get to spend another year with Finn, and probably Kurt, too! Unfortunately for Rachel, Finn and Kurt are making New York plans of their own. </p><p>Or: the Season 4 AU where Kurt and Finn are roommates in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us Ones Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> My most grateful thanks to [aj4668](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aj4668/pseuds/Aj4668) for the encouragement, beta read, and invaluable feedback. 
> 
> I was lucky enough to receive art by the crazy talented [RavingLiberal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal). She stepped up late in the game as a pinch hitter, and created a truly gorgeous mix for my fic on top of her existing fandom commitments. Please click [here](http://raving-liberal.livejournal.com/1014774.html) to download it from her LiveJournal. Go show her some love.

Almost two weeks to the day Rachel chokes her NYADA audition, she tells Finn she’s received another letter from New York. Finn puts on a nice shirt and heads over to her house, thinking that it’s got to be good news. After all, he’s helped Rachel plan her appeal in exacting detail, even writing a character reference to Ms. Tibideaux on her behalf.

“Well?” Finn says, watching Rachel open the large manila envelope.

Rachel’s jaw drops, and she bursts into tears.

It’s over an hour before Rachel is calm enough to even pass Finn the envelope so he can read its contents. It doesn’t indicate that NYADA had a change of heart following all the personalized cupcake baskets, online petitions, and 2am texts to what Rachel assured Finn was the Dean’s public cell phone. Instead, it bluntly informs Rachel that she has been issued with a year-long civil restraining order. When Rachel tells her fathers, Hiram’s face crumples like a paper bag, but LeRoy sits her down. He brings her water, and tells his _bubbeleh_ that destiny might want her to be a big fish in a small pond.

There’s nothing Finn can do that night but hold Rachel as she cries enough tears to fill a small pond several times over. He strokes her hair and stares at the Pepto-Bismol colored walls of her room, flanked with playbills and Broadway posters.

Finn just can’t process what’s happened. The one thing he’s sure of in life is that Rachel’s going to be a star, and even when stars stop burning, you can still see them in the sky. Rachel will keep on shining, but when Finn tells her this, she just cries even _more_. 

\--

“This must be a sign,” Rachel says, much later that night. She’s cried out most of her initial shock, and is cuddled up with Finn in her too-small bed, her back against his chest. “Remember when we saw _Legally Blonde_?”

“You want to apply to law school?”

“What?” Rachel says, sitting up and shooting Finn a glare. “No, what I was _going_ to say was that the touring production of _Legally Blonde_ we saw was non-equity, and some of the cast have just landed their first off-Broadway roles. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to do some community theater while I work on my appeal. I could stay in Lima, and then the three of us would be in the same position.”

“What do you mean, the three of us?”

Rachel sighs. “Well. If someone as talented and philanthropic as me was rejected from NYADA?”

 _Spit it out, Rach_ , Finn thinks. He offers her a thin smile.

“I don’t think Kurt’s chances are very high,” Rachel says. “I think perhaps he held back on his audition because he didn’t want to be separated from Blaine. It doesn't matter, though! Given the worst case scenario, if we _did_ wait a year, it might not be so awful. The three of us could start at NYADA at the same time.”

Finn breathes out through gritted teeth. Kurt changed his _safe_ audition song, ironically after Blaine told him to actually be himself for once. Finn’s heard Kurt practice “I Am Not the Boy Next Door” so many times that a) he hates that song even more, and b) knows his brother would have aced the audition. “The three of you,” he says, yawning more for show. “Yeah. I guess so. Anyway, c’mere. You need your rest.”

“Rest?” Rachel’s eyes grow wider. “You have the temerity to think I have time to be resting? I have to be planning! Will you go downstairs and fix me some stress-relief tea while I begin my legal research?”

“Babe. It’s _two thirty in the morning_.”

“Sleep is just an opportunity to miss success!” Rachel says.

She sounds like the world’s lamest fortune cookie. Finn offers her a smile. “Well, Kurt says sleep’s the best problem-solver you have,” he says, neglecting to add that _that_ particular piece of advice related to Finn’s own troubles with Rachel earlier in the year.

“You’re wrong. Kurt told _me_ his inspiration is Tom Ford because he never sleeps more than three hours each night, and --” Rachel swats Finn on his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“He told you that when he was running for senior class president, right?”

“Oh.” Rachel blinks. “Your brother is such a _weasel_!”

Rachel manages to go back to sleep until her alarm sounds, her face the very picture of relaxation. Finn, on the other hand, keeps on staring at the Pepto-Bismol walls. He’s not quite sure how he feels; disappointed for Rachel, of course, but also relieved. Another year with Rachel is a good thing, right? It should have him turning cartwheels, or at least trying to turn cartwheels. Gymnastics has never been in his skill set. The thing is, Rachel had addressed hers, Kurt’s and Blaine’s future, but didn’t even consider _his_. She’d just assumed that Finn would be in Lima as a given.

Okay, so Finn’s GPA is crap compared to Rachel’s and Kurt’s, but it’s higher than Puck’s, and his best friend doesn’t even want to make it to college. He just wants to make it to graduation.

At the beginning of his senior year, Finn just wanted to graduate, too. With so little time until graduation, he still doesn’t know what he wants, but he sure as hell knows what other people want for _him_.

\--

Rachel greets Finn in the McKinley hallways as if her restraining order was history. “Good morning, Finn!” she chirps. 

“Hey Rach,” Finn says. He guesses he probably looks hungover after no shower and no sleep. He at least brushed his teeth which is good, because she probably really wants him to kiss her right now. “You look beautiful.”

Rachel smiles like a beam of sunshine. Her eyes sparkle, giving no hint of how red and tired they’d been the night before. Her cheeks are rosy, and the sunny spring day seems to fill the air with some kind of hope at least. She tiptoes up to kiss Finn and then drops back on the balls of her feet, hands clasped behind her back.

“Are you back on the Vitamin D or something?” Finn says. “You’re pretty iridescent.”

“Effervescent, and why shouldn’t I be? Setbacks make the star.” Rachel reaches for Finn’s hand, swinging it in hers as they walk down the hallway to class. “I’m fairly sure that this ridiculousness is a test from Ms. Tibideaux to ensure my commitment and dedication. Elise Yan was admitted for the January intake last year after a caution, at least if the Broadway blogs are to be believed. Every star needs a setback to make her road to success even sweeter. After all, don’t you think I should inspire people to stay determined in the face of adversity?”

“You’re writing off other colleges? Because Kurt told me that Ma--”

“My fathers might not be willing to help me on the legal side, but NYADA is still my future. In the meantime, I’ve made the decision that I will stay in Lima as McKinley’s assistant director of the arts. Imagine leading the New Directions to two successive Nationals! Enriching a small community is so heartening, don’t you think?” Rachel says, punctuating her statement with a peppy nod.

“So you wanna stay in Lima and take over Glee?” Finn squeezes Rachel’s hand and takes a deep breath. “See, Rach. The thing is, uh... Kurt’s been pretty insistent about this whole New York thing, and...”

Rachel lets go of Finn’s hand. “Yes?”

“Well, we got talking about it, and...” Finn pauses. “Kurt told me that if I leapt, the net would follow or something, and maybe I could look at colleges myself?”

“Hm. At Lima U?” Rachel says, her voice markedly flatter. “Perhaps you and your brother could take some core classes together.”

“Kurt?” Finn scoffs. “Taking classes at Lima U? I really don't think so.”

“You’re right!” Rachel gasps. “What if _he_ wants to be assistant director of the arts? He’s already failed at being elected senior class president, and his audition for _West Side Story_ was less than stellar. Poor Kurt. I love him so dearly, and I don’t want him experiencing any more disappointments.”

Finn sighs. She’s wrong, on so many counts. “Kurt’s off to New York for sure. He’s been using my mom’s old instant camera to catalog his shoe collection, and I’ve been getting him so many boxes from Sheets-N-Things they thought I’d started working there again.”

“Well, that _would_ be a stopgap,” Rachel says. “Not to mention the employee discount. Do you have any idea how much Egyptian cotton costs?”

“More than I could afford,” Finn mutters, staring down at the toes of his sneakers. He’s not quite sure what else he can say, and thankfully the bell for first period takes the choice out of his hands. “See you later, Rach.”

\--

Finn has to collect himself for a few minutes, knowing the goodbye he gives Rachel isn’t as sincere as the one she deserves. It’s cool that his fiancee is positive, right? It’s not so cool it comes at the cost of her positivity towards him and Kurt. However much Rachel might be hurting, Kurt’s his brother, and family has to come first. 

After class, Finn grabs a can of pop from a vending machine and heads to the astronomy classroom. Why it’s there is a mystery that he’s been trying to solve since freshman year. He slumps down in a chair that’s way too small for him, and wonders why for a simple guy his life has to be so damn complicated.

Does Rachel _really_ see him as a Lima Loser?

Rachel’s made it clear that his role will be to hold her purse and give her a clutch of kids once she’s got her first Tony; his mom and Burt want him to take over the tire shop; Puck wants him to clean pools out in L.A. On the other hand, Kurt’s never told Finn what he thinks he should do after he graduates. He _did_ tell Finn that it was okay not to know, and that he shouldn’t do anything stupid like join the military because he felt he had to have a backup plan.

Finn didn’t tell Kurt when he went to see the Army recruiter the second time; he didn’t tell his brother that he thought it was the only way he could ever make a difference. Be worth something more. He sure as hell doesn’t want to make a difference by being the go-to guy for Rachel to get discount on homewares, or offering Blaine free oil changes in exchange for watching the big screen TV at his and Kurt’s fancy apartment.

Kurt knew he’d been to the recruiter, though. All he said was, “ _oh, Finn_ ,” and shook his head. Finn doesn’t know why Kurt seems to get him more than his mom, his fiancée, and his best friend sometimes. Brothers are meant to be close, but Kurt’s verging on psychic.

That evening, Glee rehearsal isn’t until seven, so Finn heads home as soon as classes are out. The feeling of unease chases him around like some toilet paper stuck to his shoe. He arrives home, and makes a beeline to the refrigerator for a snack. He’s eighteen now, and expected to function somewhat like an adult, but he hopes Kurt will make him dinner. Kurt, who’s been making souffles since he was five, lives for that stuff. 

Finn isn’t being lazy, he’s being... altruistic. That’s the word, right?

Great. He’s used SAT vocab, and nobody’s even around to hear it. Especially his brother who -- okay, scratch that. Kurt’s just arrived home, the unmistakeable sound of his Doc Martens padding across the kitchen floor.

“Creepy, sneaky Kurt,” Finn says. “You think about him, and _bam_. He’s there.”

Kurt grins. “School okay?”

“Yeah. Thought you were going to The Lima Bean with Blaine before rehearsal?”

“Changed my mind,” Kurt says, ducking under Finn’s outstretched arm to grab the orange juice out of the fridge. He must notice Finn’s _feed me_ expression because he rolls his eyes. “Mom and Burt gave us a hundred dollars to stock up on groceries before they left for Washington. When I asked you what you wanted, you didn’t even look up from whatever nauseating texts you were sending Rachel about her boobs. So don’t blame _me_ that there’s nothing you want to eat.”

“Rachel likes my texts plenty,” Finn says. There’s not any leftovers, or even sandwich fixings. Just a tiny piece of cheese wrapped in orange plastic, and a bag of fancy lettuce.

Kurt slams the fridge door so hard Finn jolts back. “If you stare into that any longer, it’ll eat _you_. Maybe Rachel can make you the grilled cheese you’re pining after.”

“Probably not,” Finn says. “I think she’s got other things on her mind.”

“Her restraining order?”

“Yeah. She’s fighting that, and she’s kinda fighting me. But then we fight anyway, so...” Finn pauses, pouring himself out a glass of orange juice. “It’s not a _bad_ thing. Making up’s always pretty great.”

Kurt covers his ears with his hands. “Stop right there, before you tell me about the other things you do that begin with _f_.”

“Flower arranging?” Finn says. He opens the freezer, and takes out a loaf of bread. “I hope not. That was the crappiest date ever. Anyway, how do you defrost this thing?”

“The microwave?” Kurt walks over to said microwave, tapping a button. “This one has a little picture of a slice of bread, and this one says defrost. Gee, I wonder what _that_ does?” Kurt says, pulling out some salad leaves, cheese, and the spreadable butter.

“Dunno.” Finn rolls his eyes. “Makes toast?”

“I adore you, you lug. But I think staying in Lima for a year will pay dividends for a blissful marriage.”

Finn shakes his head. “I am not staying in Lima to be a househusband!” he says, loudly enough for Kurt’s eyes to widen. Kurt cringes when his brother takes a step back from the chairs next to the kitchen island.

“You’re not?” Kurt says, his hands tightening on the top rail of one of the chairs. “Because I thought that you weren’t keen on going to New York anyway, but with Rachel staying here...” he pauses. “I’m sorry to assume. It was perhaps a naive assumption for me to make considering Rachel and I have spent the past two years _wanting_ you to go to college.”

“Whatever. She knows it won’t happen for me. I just didn’t think it wouldn’t happen for _her_.”

Kurt shakes his head. “If you don’t start applying to colleges, it’s not going to happen at all,” he says. “If you saw yourself the way the rest of us did, you could get into any college you wanted. You’re athletic, perceptive, and so much smarter than you give yourself credit for. If you want to apply for college? Apply for college. I’m sick of sounding like a stuck record.”

“Stuck record?” Finn snorts. “What are you, like, eighty or something?” he says, and sits down at the kitchen island.

Kurt’s busied himself with sandwich-making. He uses a scarily large knife to cut off a quarter of the frozen loaf, and places it in the microwave to defrost. He fetches a chopping board and cuts wafer-thin slices of cheese. It’s pretty calming to watch. Finn smiles gratefully when Kurt cuts off a wedge of the cheese and offers it to him. 

“Gouda grilled cheese and salad okay for you?” Kurt says, but doesn’t wait for Finn to nod his agreement. “Look, how about we tell Rachel you had an allergic reaction to the arugula and skip out on rehearsal. I’ll bake us some brownies and we can talk about what’s really on your mind.”

“Deal.” Finn reaches across and snatches another slice of cheese. “Mm, this is so much better than that orange crap Mom buys. You should always do the grocery shopping.”

Kurt extracts the bread from the microwave. “Even if I refuse to buy you those Hungry-Man dinners?”

“I don’t even like those all that much,” Finn lies. “But you’re right, I need to learn how to do all that adult stuff. Cooking things, and fixing stuff, and all that,” Finn says, cutting off a wonky slice of cheese for himself while Kurt starts cutting tomatoes for the salad. “Rach keeps trying to teach me how to make vegan food. She keeps telling me the difference between firm and silky tofu, but it just makes me think about boobs.”

“You’re a straight teenage boy,” Kurt says. “Sunny-side up _eggs_ make you think of boobs, and on that note? Call Rachel, and tell her we can’t make it so we can have our lady chat. If you’re worried she’ll come over with some homeopathic allergy remedies, I’ll tell her we’re having a private session of Booty Camp or something.”

“That sounds _so_ wrong, but sure. Can you stop calling it a lady chat, though?”

“I only do that to annoy you,” Kurt says, to which Finn takes yet another slice of cheese from Kurt’s carefully sliced pile and pokes out his tongue.

\--

Finn’s penance for getting three grilled cheese sandwiches and a plate of brownies made for him is to clean the toilet. It’s worth it, though; the brownies are served with some of Kurt’s homemade nutella ice cream in these weird rainbow bowls that Kurt must have got from eBay because his mom or Burt wouldn’t own anything so gaudy.

Actually, scratch that. Finn’s seen his mom’s ceramic gator collection. 

“Ah, so dairy _is_ the way to a man’s heart,” Kurt says. “If only you’d told me back in freshman year. I’d have packed in my dreams, and become a farmer. D’you think I could pull off muck boots?”

“Uh, yeah? If you can take off pants that tight, you can pull off some shoes.”

“Not what I meant, Finn.”

“You can pull off anything. Not that it matters, though. You’ve got _Blaine’s_ heart, so it’s not like you’re looking for other guys. You two are endgame, just like me and Rach.”

“Mm.” Kurt scrapes up the last of his ice cream.

“Mm?”

“I do care about Blaine a lot. But as senior year’s gone on, and my move to New York looms closer and closer, he’s been...” Kurt exhales. “You ever get this feeling like you’re walking on glass and it’s about to break under your feet and ruin your favorite Ferragamos?”

“I have no idea what a Ferragamo is,” Finn says. He gets the idea, though. Reading between the lines, it’s a diplomatic way of Kurt saying that Blaine is going to go all _Misery_ on his ass or something. “But yeah, I kinda get that,” he settles on saying. “Only in my case, the glass is already broken, and she’s giving me band-aids when I really need the urgent care clinic.”

“Exactly!” Kurt says. “I’m eighteen, and he wants us to be soulmates. I do care about him, and I know you’re sure that Rachel’s who you want to spend the rest of your life with, but I think we’re far too young to be basing our future on them. I get that Blaine moved schools to be with me, but he knew New York was my plan from the day we met. I feel horrible for saying this, but sometimes I think he wants me to hold back.”

“So don’t hold back,” Finn says. “Y’know, I’d be scared shitless if you were out in New York on your own, so...”

“Oh my god, yes!” Kurt says, reaching across the kitchen island to clutch at Finn’s shoulders. “Next year, Rachel and Blaine will be busy with Glee. I know Tina has some ridiculous fantasy of being noticed, but I’m fairly sure Blaine has _Captain_ tattooed on his butt. NYADA won’t turn Rachel down a second time, and I think Blaine’s chances are pretty high too. If we go to New York together, they can come out next year and join us.”

Finn smiles, but then his smile dips. “What’ll I do out there, though?” he says. “I’m not holding _your_ purse. Not unless you need to, I dunno, put up an umbrella or something.”

“College?” Kurt says. “If that’s not right for you, there are more jobs in New York than, well, anywhere else. Problem solved.”

“This is going to be awesome,” Finn says, looking at Kurt who’s smiling more brightly than Finn remembers seeing since their parents’ wedding.

“Come here, Finn. Give me a hug.”

Finn’s a little taken aback by the request; Kurt’s never really been comfortable in voicing his need for physical contact. He hops down from his chair, and they meet the other’s gaze a little awkwardly before Kurt presses his body against Finn’s chest, and looks up at him so Finn can see his smile. There’s this weird little flip in Finn’s stomach at the realization that he actually _loves_ the guy. If you’d told him he’d be comfortable with that back in freshman or even junior year of high school, he’d have been horrified, but there’s nothing horrifying about it. Kurt’s his brother, and loving your family is par for the course.

It’s still a little weird, though.

It’s even weirder still that Finn’s pretty sure Kurt’s thinking exactly the same thing.

In contrast, Rachel does not take Finn and Kurt’s brotherly night in so well. Finn wakes up to Tweets, Facebook posts, and a variety of text messages alluding to his _work ethic_. It’s nothing he’s not heard before, and once he shares his epiphany with Rachel, she’ll be so proud it’ll be water on the bridge or however that saying goes. He picks her up a decaf soy latte from The Lima Bean, and smiles at her when they meet in the McKinley parking lot. His smile dips when she strides up to him, and snatches the coffee from his hand.

The look in her eyes is enough for Finn to know she’s mad.

Like, Exorcist-level mad.

“Do you realize I had to have Blaine sing your parts of “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” at rehearsal?” Rachel tells him, one hand clutching her coffee and the other poking accusingly at his chest. “He did a far better job with the choreography. Of course, the chemistry between us never did recover after I briefly expanded his heterosexual horizons last year, but that might be something we can work on if you and your brother decide you’re going to skip rehearsal again.”

Finn blinks. “You had a thing with Blaine?”

“We dated, remember? That was when I wrote “Special Time”.”

“Uh, yeah. Anyway, we didn’t skip rehearsal. We had an allergic reaction!”

“To arugula?” Rachel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid, Finn.”

“Fine, fine. We missed practice because…” Finn leans back against his truck, feeling pressed ever-closer as Rachel advances. “You know you’re always telling me to think about my future? I talked to Kurt and we both agree that New York would be the best thing for the future, and for ourselves, and… I told Kurt it was way late to apply for colleges, but he told me loads of places have rolling admissions. There’s this website where you plug in your SAT scores and stuff and it tells you where to apply.”

Rachel takes a large sip of her coffee. “How helpful of your brother,” she says, flatly. “So Kurt’s helping you put together an application for Fall 2013?”

“Uh…” Finn offers her a lopsided smile. “Not exactly?”

“But you just said you were applying!”

“I did,” Finn mumbles. “I applied last night.”

Rachel starts to pace around between the parked vehicles. “What?” she says, her tone reminding Finn of a screaming Blue Jay. “You’re -- you’re planning on going to New York without me? And.. without Kurt? He’s your _brother_ , and you’re just abandoning him!”

“I’m not abandoning him,” Finn says, wincing at the glare of Rachel’s that’s more piercing than the early morning sunshine. “We’re moving out there together.”

“So Kurt’s just leaving Blaine?” Rachel says, one hand clasped over her chest.

“Blaine knows. It won’t be forever, and we’ll be home for vacations.”

Rachel wails, her beautiful eyes turning dark and glassy, and Finn wishes his truck would just run him over. “How could you and Kurt go behind my back and do this to me?”

Finn steps forward, and around Rachel. “And if you’d got into NYADA, you wouldn’t have gone to New York without _me_?”

“Don’t be stupid. You were _always_ in the picture.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “The picture. The one where I’m dressed up like some ridiculous Ken doll and holding your clutch. The one where I don’t speak at your fancy theater parties because you’re scared I’ll say something dumb and embarrass you.”

“Finn. We spoke about this,” Rachel says, her tone similar to that she uses for the kids at her ballet classes. “It’s called graded exposure, remember? As soon as I win my first Tony, we can start a family. Can you imagine how much fun you and Kurt would have have taking the children on playdates while Blaine and I attend rehearsals or fulfill our philanthropic obligations?”

“Wait. What?”

“That was the plan, wasn't it? We have to accept that Kurt’s appeal is a little less… mainstream than mine or Blaine’s. Until we’re able to write a role _for_ him, I’m not sure he’ll have too much success outside Off-Broadway productions.”

Finn tries not to roll his eyes. “Kurt’s been writing plays since he could hold a pen. I don’t think --”

“A family.” Rachel interrupts him. She smiles, reaching out her hand to rest on Finn’s shoulder. “Since you were _sixteen_. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Finn brushes her hand away. “I _have_ a family. And if you think that’s why I’m mad, then you really don’t know me at all!”

Rachel tosses her hair back over her shoulder and tilts her chin up. “I know you better than Kurt knows you,” she says. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Really?” Finn says, staring into eyes that could not be any wider. “Well, know this. I’m moving to New York after graduation, and so’s Kurt, and if you think we’re going to spend the rest of our lives raising your kids and holding your purses, you can think again.”

“Do you even have a major?” Rachel spits out. “Did you even think that far?”

“Does it matter? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do after college, but I have four years at college to figure that out.”

“And how are you paying for all of this?”

“I figured I could get a job. Those of us who don’t have two rich, gay dads paying for everything are sorta obliged.”

Rachel sniffs. “Are you saying I don’t work hard?”

“You work the hardest, but there’s more to success than hard work. Hell, there must be, because I’ve busted my ass this year to show you I’m worth it. I’m pulling As in most of my classes, but you still see me as some dumb, goofy guy with a brain as small as I’m tall. I don’t have talent like you, Kurt or Blaine. Hard work’s all I got.”

“You’re the quarterback,” Rachel retorts. “You have no idea of the preferential treatment that affords you.”

“Less preferential treatment than parents who’ve been paying for you to go to musical theater camp since you were two. It’s gonna be rough, but I need to _do_ something. Maybe if I bust my ass over the next four years, I might be able to make something of myself?”

“You said college wasn’t the answer, though!” Rachel says, staring down at her to-go cup.

“It only stopped being the answer when _you_ didn’t get in,” Finn says, turning away from her. “Don’t hold me responsible for someone else’s decision, Rach. In fact, don’t hold me responsible for anything right now.”

The tears are falling fast enough that Finn can tell Rachel’s mascara isn’t the kind she wears when she goes swimming. She’s blinking rapidly, staring down at the ring on her finger as though the metal is biting hard into her hand. It’s more than incongruous to Finn, because all he’s done is commit himself to moving to New York. He’s done the precise thing that Rachel’s been asking him to do ever since he got down on one knee and proposed, and now she’s wanting him to do the opposite?

“You said you’d never break up with me,” Rachel says. “You said!”

“I’m not breaking up with you.” Finn exhales, tightening his grip on the straps of his backpack. He wills himself to look away, because the look on Rachel’s face will just confirm he’s the worst person in the world. “I just need some space because I’m pretty sure _you’re_ about to break up with _me_.”

Rachel stares down at her ring. Finn expects her to have the last word, but on this occasion, she says nothing.

There’s a last hint of watery, late evening sunshine when Finn hears Kurt’s Nav pull into the driveway. Finn hears Kurt walk up the path; well, stomping is more accurate. Finn’s sat in silence in the front room, most of the way through a tub of vegan ice cream he’d hoped Rachel might enjoy the next time he cooked her dinner. Kurt opens the front door, and doesn't make eye contact. Within minutes, he’s sat next to Finn on the couch and brandishing a pint of the fancy ice cream with the name Finn can’t pronounce.

“You look like crap,” Finn says.

“So do you.” Kurt tears off the lid of his ice cream and stabs at it with his spoon. “Trouble in pre-marital paradise?”

“Yeah. I’m too ambitious now. Can you believe that?”

Kurt snorts. “No offense, but I really can’t.”

“None taken.” Finn takes another large spoon. “I told her about, you know. New York. And she said, get this -- she said _you_ have no chance of making it on Broadway, and I’ll end up being a sandwich artist for Subway. We’ll be making our way to our shitty, minimum wage jobs while Rachel and Blaine walk through Times Square arm-in-arm with coats over their heads to avoid the paparazzi.”

“Arm in arm?” Kurt says, flashing Finn a smile. “Whoever would hold their purses?”

“Someone with a lot less talent than you.” Finn pushes his carton aside. “How does Rachel eat this? It tastes like dry wall. Anyway, I’m so pissed. You’re the most talented person I know, and she thinks _that_ of you? Then she has the nerve to tell me I need more ambition, and gets all pissy at me when I do. I can’t win!”

“Ambition?” Kurt smiles, then claps his hand together. “Ooh! Did you apply to that acting program we talked about?”

“I did, but that was to get her off my back. I don’t wanna be an actor, Kurt.”

“So what _do_ you want to be?”

Kurt’s eyes seem soft, and his smile encouraging. His scrutiny seems tolerable, somehow, because it seems to come from a genuine desire to see Finn happy. Of course, part of it probably comes from the fact he doesn’t want to be facing forty and having his brother living in his spare bedroom. 

“I dunno. Something -- maybe working with people? Like, coaching, or counseling? I don’t want to be stuck in an office pushing paper.”

“Teaching?” Kurt says. “I mean, you’ve taught us _far_ more than Mr. Schue.”

“Like what?” Finn says, thinking Kurt’s laying it on a little too thick. “How to fail at everything ever?”

Kurt’s cheeks redden a little, and he finally manages to soften his ice cream enough to take a spoonful. “You've achieved a lot. You could major in music, or sport management, or social science, or psychology. Even pre-med. Anything you want to,” Kurt says, digging his spoon in again. 

The serious tone is somewhat diminished by the smear of melted ice cream on Kurt's’ upper lip, so Finn reaches across to him to gently wipe it away with his thumb. 

Finn sighs. “I have no idea. But I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to sit back and hold Rachel’s purse while she has this awesome New York life. If Rachel thinks my mom will be proud of me for that, she’s certifiable. I mean, would _you_ be proud of me if I did that?”

“Me?” Kurt touches his thumb to his lips. “If it made you happy, then I would be the proudest brother ever.”

Finn stares at him, not quite sure what to say. The moment’s a little bit heavier than the conversation probably called for. He meets Kurt’s eyes quickly, and then looks away, staring into his own carton while Kurt continues to make slow work of his strawberry cheesecake until he groans and pushes the carton aside. . 

“Brain freeze?” Finn says.

Kurt sets down his ice cream on the coffee table and slumps back into the couch. “Life freeze. I’m going to need a back-up plan for when NYADA reject me.”

“Don’t be crazy. There’s no way they’d turn you down.”

“If they turned down Rachel Berry with her GPA that's higher than mine, with more extracurriculars than that crazy girl from _Election_ and her two gay fathers who’ve tithed to the NYADA equality fund since Rachel was a bundle of cells marinating in a petri dish? Well.” Kurt drags his pointer finger across his neck, and makes a gurgling noise.

Finn shifts on the couch, turning so that he’s directly facing Kurt. He wiggles so they’re almost touching, and puts his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. He figures that they’re a little cold, but Kurt will probably appreciate that given that he hates the heat. Besides, if Kurt tightens his grip on his ice cream any further, he’ll end up with a melted strawberry cheesecake explosion.

“So what, Kurt? You might not get the big Broadway plays Rachel or Blaine think they will, but you always told me you wanted to write your own plays and be your own star,” he says, moving one hand up to feel the soft hair on Kurt’s nape. “NYADA would be crazy to turn you down, but there are other schools. There’s so much we can do, and it feels like maybe we _could_ do it if the people who loved us believed in us.”

“You’re the only one who believes in me,” Kurt mutters. “Even _Blaine_ told me to be realistic. My own boyfriend doesn’t believe in me, and he doesn’t even understand why that’s so hurtful. Well, I don’t care. I’m off to New York.”

“Me too,” Finn says, with a perfunctory nod. “There’s loads of stuff you can do, even if you are rejected. You could write stuff for magazines, or design clothes, or even model!”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Model? I don’t think so. Are we sure we’re doing this on our own?”

“Dead sure.”

“And those Army pamphlets are in the trash?”

Finn releases his grip from Kurt. “It wasn’t that bad an idea,” he says. “Rachel said I wasn’t smart or sporty or whatever enough for a scholarship, so the Army would be my best shot at paying for college. Then she kinda went mad and said that she couldn’t believe my mom hadn’t saved much for my college fund. I went mad at that. Mom was a single parent trying to put herself through nursing school, and she _still_ managed to put something away.”

“You definitely inherited your mother’s work ethic,” Kurt says.

“Rachel doesn’t get it. Her dads spend more on getting their eyebrows threaded than Mom spends on anything. I don’t even know why an eyebrow _needs_ to be threaded. What do they even thread it to?”

Kurt snorts out a laugh. “Never change, Finn,” he says, placing his hand over Finn’s. He interlaces their fingers and then gives Finn’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t change now, and don’t change when the Hudmels take New York.”

“By the time we’re done, New York won’t want itself back,” Finn says. Kurt’s hand is cold from where he’s been holding his ice cream, but Finn doesn’t pull away. “You think we could convince Puck to come with? I watched this episode of _Archer_ where they had this fancy little pool on the roof of one of those big Hiltons. Puck could totally clean those.”

“No, thank you,” Kurt says haughtily. “I’m not having his bare back sweating up my imitation leather Adrian Pearsall couch while he lounges around in his _Captain Marvel_ underwear.”

“Dude, you’ve creeped on Chris Evans enough to know it’s called _Captain America_ , and you know Puck only does that to annoy you.”

“Doesn’t make it any less disgusting,” Kurt counters.

“ _You’re_ disgusting. If you buy a leather couch, of course people will be sticking to it,” Finn says, and stands up. “C’mon, Kurt. Gimme a hug.”

In contrast to events the day before, Kurt almost looks a little guilty as he nods and stands up, pulling down the hem of his shirt. He lets Finn pull him close to his chest. Kurt makes this tiny, happy little squeak. It’s the same noise he makes when he places the winning bid for a fancy scarf on eBay, or when Schue says he can sing Rhianna for that week’s Glee assignment.

Kurt breaks away, his expression reluctant. “I have to drive to Blaine’s,” he says. “He wants to show me his storyboard of ideas for his NYADA audition video.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“Well, yes,” Kurt nods. “He said after watching Rachel choke that he didn’t want to make the same mistake.”

Finn snorts. “Douche.”

“Perhaps, but he’s my douche.”

Finn clasps at his chest, mock-wounded. “Aren’t I your douche?”

Kurt gives a tiny smile, but he doesn’t show the tips of his teeth. “Well, douche. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Maybe you could start making a list of what you’d like in a neighborhood?”

“Cheap, cheap, and cheap,” Finn laughs. “It’s a pretty big city, huh.”

“Not as big as you,” Kurt says. “You’ll be incredible.”

“Not as incredible as you.”

Kurt’s tiny smile turns into a fully-fledged grin. “Well, now. Who would be?”

When Finn was younger, he watched this movie called _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ with Puck, hoping to see some boobs. All he remembers apart from the boobs is that the movie was pretty insistent that high school would speed by faster than a bullet shot through a wind tunnel.

The movie was right.

Before Finn can even process the passing of time, Nationals are over. By late spring, classes are mere formalities. He honestly _does_ feel like the rock star he always wanted to be when he walks through the hallways with Rachel on one arm and his champion’s trophy in the other. He’s pretty sure this might be as good as his life ever gets, so he’s determined to enjoy it as much as he can. 

Rachel refuses to be there when Kurt and Finn open their college letters together. Kurt immediately bursts into tears, which Finn takes as a bad sign until Kurt actually _shows_ him his NYADA acceptance letter, his hands shaking wildly. Finn’s not surprised his first choice school rejects him, but his second choice isn’t exactly a bad place to be.

They toast the news as a family that evening, with Carole breaking out some really sweet box wine of which Finn and and Kurt are allowed _one small glass and one small glass only_. Burt nods sagely like he’d known all along, and Carole just smiles and says she’s glad Finn won’t be going it alone.

“I can look after myself,” Finn says, though secretly thinks his mom is even more scared than he is about the move. “I’m an adult, and you weren’t that much older than me when you got married!”

Carole raises an eyebrow. “You burned Kurt’s tagine last week.”

“No, I burned that crockpot, but I didn’t touch any of his clothes, I swear!”

Kurt snickers. “A tagine is a crockpot, Finn. I see a lot of take-out in your future.”

“Where’s Rachel, Kiddo?” Burt says. “She not coming to Breadstix with us?”

“Sour grapes,” Kurt explains. “That, and it’s an off week.”

“Oh.” Carole shoots Kurt a sly smile, and a wink that she probably thinks Finn can’t see. His mom’s so used to the Finchel carousel she doesn’t even need more explanation. “Well, whatever happens with Rachel and Blaine, you two boys will always have each other.”

\--

The off-week turns into several weeks. Rachel’s still not on kissing terms with Finn by the day of their graduation. It’s the kind of muggy heat that only a thunderstorm will clear, and it surrounds them like a vise. Finn feels strangled in his bright red graduation gown, and watches the McKinley Class of 2012 looking like sweaty cattle heading for the slaughter. They’re not getting out, Finn realizes; they’re saying a nervous farewell to what will be the best days of their life. Even Shane and his big shoot football scholarship is only going as far as OSU. The Glee kids are pretty much the only ones going out of state.

Rachel is nobody’s definition of a Lima Loser, but she’s not getting out either.

Quinn delivers her valedictorian speech on _expanding your horizons_ and _opening your mind_. It’s hokey, and it also sounds a bit like Quinn’s coming out speech. (Finn’s always had suspicions about her and Santana, and he hopes Rachel isn’t actually psychic enough to read his thoughts.) The marching band perform cheesy songs that probably weren’t even cool when his mom graduated in the late 80s, and finally, it’s the New Directions’ turn to take the stage. By the time they get to “Time of Your Life”, Finn’s gown is darker on the sleeves where he’s been dabbing at his eyes. He’s going to miss his crazy bunch of misfits.

Afterwards, Mike Chang clasps him into a tight hug. “End of an era, man,” he mutters.

Finn slaps him on the back. Ripped as he is, the guy is tiny, and Finn’s kind of scared he’d break him if he wasn’t so flexible. “Yeah, but you better bring a whole new era of Mike Chang dance showcases when I see you at Christmas!”

Mike punches him on the shoulder and rolls around on the balls of his feet. “Only if you do the singing.”

“Deal,” Finn says. “I bet you’ll have your own workout DVD by the end of the year. _Changtasia_?”

“ _Changtastic_ ,” Mike says, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

From behind, Finn can see Tina approach the pair of them. She’s walking towards Mike with her mopey, moon-pie eyes that can look even crazier than Rachel’s. Finn mouths a _later, dude_ to Mike and decides to let them have their moment. His heart hurts for the guy. Everyone always joked Mike and Tina were Glee’s old married couple, and there’s a real danger that Mike’s going to be stuck pining for Tina and having a miserable time at college. He’s also pretty sure that Tina won’t be able to deal with the fact that the next time the New Directions perform together will probably be at Mr. Schue’s wedding.

\--

Quinn, who has the biggest house and the guiltiest parent, hosts the graduation party. She’s clearly not in control of the music, evidenced by the thumping bass line of “Californication” by the _Red Hot Chili Peppers_ which indicates Puck has likely taken over. Finn’s both excited and nervous as he gets out of his truck and walks up the wide, leafy sidewalk leading to the Fabray residence. Quinn’s mom greets him, trying to look like she’s not terrified by the whole debacle. She tells Finn she’s leaving for a spa weekend. Finn’s certain that spa weekend means Botox, because there’s no other way a woman who scowls as much as Judy Fabray doesn’t have any wrinkles.

The moment Quinn’s mom’s car speeds off, Puck picks the lock on the drinks cabinet, and corrals Brittany into making some sort of punch. Lauren Zizes of all people turns up and drinks whipped cream vodka from the bottle while having the world’s nerdiest fight with Sam over their different Avatar fandoms, including what Finn assumes are some f bombs in Na’vi. Puck ends up making out with Lauren to shut her up, and tells Finn he’s the _bonfire bro_ now. After the late afternoon thunderstorms, the night air is unseasonably cool. Finn gives the bonfire a poke, and then looks across to Kurt’s who's sat alone on a large plaid picnic blanket.

“Hey, bro,” Finn says, kneeling down. “You’re not playing Fuzzy Duck?”

“Not when Blaine deliberately messes up so he can drink more,” Kurt says, and sighs, looking into his own solo cup. “I don’t know what he’s drinking to forget. Sam and Tina aren’t graduating, and they’re his closest friends. He knew this was happening, and it’s _our_ night.”

“Yeah, it’s not cool to be making this about _him_ right now.”

Kurt drains whatever’s in his cup, and sets it down. “S’mores?” he offers, without any hint of irony. He gestures to a Tupperware container and some hardwood sticks on top.

“We’re not kids,” Finn huffs.

“Oh please.” Kurt passes Finn a stick. “You’ve been wanting to make campfire s’mores with me since our parents got married.”

“Dude, if I get a splinter on my tongue, Rach won’t let me anywhere near her. Do you have any metal ones?”

“You won’t get splinters. Remember the time you burned your tongue making those kabobs? Metal conducts.”

“Yeah, well your pants conduct.”

Kurt looks down at his very sparkly gold pants, and then back up to Finn. “I love bonfires,” he says. “I wonder if they have winter bonfires in Central Park? I can’t think of anything more romantic than walking hand-in-hand with someone, with a bag of freshly-roasted chestnuts from one of the carts. I assume they’re about as sanitary as _you_ in the kitchen, but oh, that smell…”

“I’ve never had chestnuts,” Finn says, thinking it’s probably best he doesn’t bring up how Kurt didn’t say his someone would be Blaine. “But we could do microwave s’mores. Maybe I’ll buy one of those fireplace channel DVDs?”

“As Tim Gunn is my witness, you’re getting a new closet before anything else.”

“At least my shirt doesn’t look like a straitjacket, you…” Finn watches Kurt extract a bag of marshmallows from his container. “Marshmallow,” he settles on, which seems as good an insult as any. “Those aren’t vegan, are they?”

“You’re a marshmallow in that puffy horror.” Kurt pops one of the sugary treats into his mouth. “Ugh. I think they are. That’s the last time I leave the campfire planning to Rachel Berry.”

Finn reaches into his backpack and extracts some regular marshmallows. “I had enough of a lecture about _bone glue_ that I brought my own,” he says, offering the bag to Kurt. He looks at the grateful smile on Kurt’s face, and knows his voice is wavering a little. He folds his legs under him, staring into the licking flames. He’s often had this sensation before, this seesaw of good and bad, and he wishes he could give it a name.

Letting the silence continue, Kurt reaches into the bag and threads marshmallows on a stick. He passes it to Finn, and the pair of them watch as their sticks turn gooey and charred. Finn stares at the graham cracker Kurt passes him and fixes his s’more, not quite sure what he’s meant to say.

“I think those are done, Finn,” Kurt says, laughing.

“I like them when they’re really goopy,” Finn says. He looks at Kurt, whose face is so close to the fire that the lines are illuminated. The shadows on his face make him look like an adult for the first time ever. Finn’s technically younger, and Kurt’s always been way more mature, but they’re actually growing up. It’s nowhere nearly as terrifying as Finn thought it would be at the start of senior year.

Kurt looks up at the sky. “So. Last ever high school party, then.” 

Finn takes a bite of his s’more, licking his fingers. He spits out the strands of grass that have somehow made their way into his mouth. “I guess so. You watching the stars?” 

“I won’t be able to see them in New York,” Kurt says. “I’ll have to go to the Planetarium.” 

Finn thinks going to the Planetarium is even duller than Rachel’s flower-arranging date. He nods supportively, though. Being a star is Kurt and Rachel’s thing, not his. Kurt once told him that he was more like Atlas; the giant dude who held up the entire sky and allowed the stars to shine. Put that way, a supporting role doesn’t sound so bad. 

“Speaking of stars…” Kurt shakes his head. “I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but I’m worried that Rachel’s being a little too single-minded. You know I’m the last person who’d tell her -- or anyone -- to give up on their dreams, but she needs to work out what she’ll do if things don’t go to plan.” 

“Rachel won’t stop until she gets that acceptance letter,” Finn says. 

Kurt threads another stick with marshmallows and turns towards the fire again. “What if she changes her mind? After all, there was a time when she thought _you_ was what was best for her, and she didn’t stop until she got you. Has she even shown any sign of wanting to know where the two of you stand before we skip town?” 

Finn shrugs, tugging at the Fabray’s lawn with his free hand. “The hell do I know?”

“Judging by your GPA, a lot more than we all thought you did, apparently.”

Finn scowls. Kurt thinks he’s stupid, too. “I know I need another drink.”

Kurt leans over. “Finn. Finn, wait. Please don’t -- I didn’t mean --”

“I know where I stand with Rach,” Finn says. “What about you and Blaine? Scared he’s gonna sneak up on you with your Officer Krupke cuffs and chain you to his front gates so you won’t leave Lima?” 

Kurt’s scowl probably matches Finn’s. _Double Munster bitch face_ , in Santana-speak.

“You want to talk about it, Kurt?”

“Not really.” Kurt throws his stick into the fire, marshmallows and all, and stands up. 

“Okay, then.” Finn stands up too, brushing some strands of grass from his bare knees. He reaches for his phone with slightly sticky fingers and sees a notification. “Santana’s starting a game of _Cards Against Humanity_ in the den. Want to come with?”

“No. I’m going to catch up with Blaine. Funnily enough, I like spending time with him.”

Finn frowns. He never implied that Kurt _didn’t_. “Are you okay for a ride?”

Kurt nods. “Dad’ll pick me up. Do me a favor, though. If Puck loses and dresses up as “Lola” again, at least make sure he wears Quinn’s pregnancy clothes this time,” he says, then pauses. “Oh, and take pictures!”

“It’s cool.” Finn cocks his brother a half-smile. “I got half a red shower curtain that’s free to a good home.”

\--

Part of why Finn spends most of the party hanging out with Puck and Mike is that they’re the first of the gang to leave Lima. The last sleepover he has at Puck’s -- maybe the last time they’ll ever hang out together in Ohio -- ends up with Puck drinking too much and crying into Finn’s chest while they watch an awful spaghetti Western. Puck tells everyone within earshot that he’s off to Cali to _bang some babes_. Finn’s beyond scared his best friend won’t find what he’s really looking for. Puck’s leaving hits him so hard that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

One week later, Mike leaves, flying out to volunteer at a dance school in Taiwan. Mercedes soon follows suit as she heads off to be a camp counselor, and Santana and Brittany are spending several weeks at Brittany’s aunt’s cabin upstate. Pretty soon, it’s only Finn, Kurt and Rachel who are left out of the graduating class. 

Finn spends a lot of time with Sam, working out and working at the tire shop. Even with Finn’s financial aid package, he’s pretty sure he’ll need to sell a body part to afford New York, and hopes he manages to find some work before his meager college fund runs out.

Before Finn even realizes it, it’s the beginning of July. The day’s been sticky, and Finn’s taken far too long to change a fan belt. He feels like he’s marinating under his coveralls. He’s only just scoured off the grime in a cold shower and changed into his sweats when the doorbell rings. His mom and Burt have gone out to dinner, and Kurt and Blaine are performing Sinatra songs at an assisted living facility in Spencerville. He grumbles to himself as he answers the door, expecting some religious freak telling him he needs to prepare for the rapture.

When he opens the door, it _is_ the rapture. The rapture is a shade over a foot shorter than him, and holding a pan of delicious-smelling banana bread.

“Rach, hey,” Finn says, not opening the door all the way. “Kurt’s not home.”

“I know. Blaine told me.”

“Well, he should've said this is a bad time. I gotta, uh, go for my evening run.”

“Really?” Rachel arches her brow. “Because I can hear the video game music from outside your front door, Finn Hudson.”

“Alright, fine.” Finn folds his arms across his chest. “So I was playing lame ass video games with Sam and planning on eating my weight in barbecue-flavored Stax because I’m tired from work and Kurt’s dad is a freaking slave driver perfectionist just like his son. Happy?”

“No. And not just because the term _slave driver_ is wholly inappropriate. Remember the presentation we gave in U.S. History last year?” Rachel steps through the threshold, ducking under Finn’s arm. “I found a vegan recipe so we can share your favorite treat,” she says, teetering through to the kitchen in heels a lot higher and pointier than she usually wears.

Finn follows her through. He’s starting to realize why they call them baked _goods_. The delicious-smelling treat is in a heart-shaped pan and there’s a cocktail stick in the center to which Rachel has attached a small, white flag. The dark pink cursive icing reads _I’m sorry_. It matches Rachel’s nail polish.

“Would you like a piece?” Rachel asks, the sunlight from the open window hitting the diamonds in her engagement ring. She’s shining like she’s the star in her own cheesy sitcom. “Finn?” Rachel says. She’s staring at the floor tiles. “We need to talk.”

\--

Finn takes his time cutting perfectly equal slices of the banana bread, and pours one of Kurt’s fancy Norwegian waters into a glass. He gets himself a glass of pop, and brings everything through on a tray. He eats slowly, chewing his banana bread purposefully because the longer he takes to eat, the less time Rachel will have to talk. He definitely wasn’t expecting this, and all the banana bread in the world can’t help. _We need to talk_ tends to mean break-up. However, Rachel sips her water slowly. She’s halfway through her water when she turns to Finn with the sort of eerie smile that makes him know something big is about to happen.

“I was wrong, Finn,” Rachel says. “So, so wrong.”

“You were…” Finn sputters, choking on the crumbs. “I… _huh_?”

“I’m so sorry. There I was, deliberately holding you back from your ambitions when I’ve endeavored to spend the past three years making you look deeply enough inside yourself to even find them. It makes me a…” Rachel takes another sip of water and makes a small cough. “It makes me a hypocrite. But please, you have to know, I was so _scared_. I was so scared that the moment you arrived in New York, that the moment you found the confidence and ambition to find what you wanted in a city as big as yourself… you might realize that maybe I’m not so special, after all.”

“Hey, hey. No.” Finn sets down his plate and shifts to face Rachel, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve never doubted yourself before. Why’d you doubt _me_?”

“Because I’m not enough. I’m not enough for NYADA, or for you. You are the love of my life, Finn, and that won’t change. Would you be willing to wait a year for me?”

Finn takes her hands in his, and looks into her eyes. Even when he was dating Quinn, and when he was with Santana, she was still his girl. Her bright white teeth curve up into the most hopeful of smiles, and Finn feels like he’s swallowed a boulder.

“Please. One year, Finn. That’s all I ask.”

“I don’t follow,” Finn says, staring down at his chewed-up stubbs of nails. “You want me to wait here for a year while you reapply to NYADA?”

“Well, technically it would only be ten months…”

“Rach. Kurt’s found us this awesome place in Greenpoint. He’s gone online and got me this bed with a frame that doubles as a privacy partition, and a side table that --”

“Greenpoint?” Rachel says. “Isn’t that where Hannah lives in _Girls_? It’s a little... urban for my tastes.”

“I have no idea,” Finn says. “Kurt says the neighborhood’s cool unless I go skinny dipping in the creek. Look, Rach. We’ve booked our flights. We’ve picking out furniture. Classes start in less than a month. I love you, but Kurt’s my brother. I can’t leave him alone in New York City, and I… I don’t want to. I’m excited about this.”

Rachel sighs, then drinks the last of her water. “Then I’ll wait here for you.”

“You want to try the long-distance thing?” Finn says.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rachel reaches for Finn’s hands again, squeezing them tightly. “When I was thirteen, I had this adorable penfriend from Jewish theater camp. This will be just as lovely as the letters I exchanged with Aaron, only a little…” Rachel winks. “Saucier.”

“You sure?”

“One hundred percent,” Rachel says. She releases Finn’s hands, and with her fingertips she traces the neckline of Finn’s shirt, settling them just under the vee. “What do you say?”

Finn gulps. There’s not much he can say to that. Given it’s been weeks since he’s been on kissing terms with her; he’s not exactly thinking with his brain right now.

“Mm. I hope that’s me, and not the banana bread,” Rachel says brightly, placing her other hand flat on Finn’s upper thigh. “Did you know, Kurt gave me the recipe? Your brother is very giving. Of course, there are a few things he can’t give you, and if we’re not going to be seeing each other until fall, we should…”

“Yeah.” Finn’s head tilts back as Rachel purses her lips and moves in for the kill. “We should.”

As Rachel places Finn’s palm on the front of her sundress, a voice that sounds a lot like Kurt tells Finn that doing everything he can to make _Rachel_ happy might make his adjustment to New York more difficult than it needs to be. Pretty soon, though, Rachel’s sliding her lips to that spot just below his ear that makes him go crazy, and Finn’s not thinking of much at all.

Their last few days pass by in a blur of packing and goodbyes. Kurt spends every night with Blaine, and Finn doesn’t see much of his brother at all. They have a farewell brunch with Burt and Carole before driving to the airport in Columbus. Kurt drives to the airport in Blaine’s car, and Finn and Rachel take the custom-wrapped pink Fiat Rachel’s fathers bought her as a graduation gift. Kurt watches Rachel lay one on Finn outside the airport with ever-wider eyes. By the time they’re at the check-in desk, Rachel’s telling Finn that she loves him, and she’ll never leave him, and Kurt’s moved on from eye-rolling to make horrendous gagging noises.

“What can I get you to eat, baby?” Rachel says, tiptoeing up to kiss Finn’s cheek.

“Hm.” Finn extracts his wallet and hands her a twenty. “I’m in the mood for Cold Stone. An oreo shake for me, and a medium cheesecake fantasy for Kurt?”

“A large cheesecake fantasy for Kurt,” Kurt adds. “We’ll meet you after check-in!” he trills, waving to Rachel and Blaine. As soon as their respective partners are out of sight, Kurt turns to Finn with a scowl. “You didn’t tell me Finchel was on,” he says, then lowers the tone of his voice. “ _Again_.”

“Wow, Kurt.” Finn rolls his eyes. “It’s so great you’re happy for me.”

“I would be if I thought it was a remotely good idea. Does this really serve any benefit other than limiting your options?”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Finn says, jabbing Kurt with his elbow. “Limiting my options? I’ve kissed loads of girls. I know Rachel’s it for me.”

“You’ve had two girlfriends,” Kurt says, shuffling towards the front of the line.

“You’ve not even met more than one guy who’s an option,” Finn points out. “I’m as happy with my option as you are with yours.”

“Then why is there this vague, lingering look of terror in your eyes?” Kurt says, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as though he’s scared Rachel will somehow hear. “I saw it before, when you dated Quinn for the second time. I saw it when Santana approached you in the hallway and spoke about your virginity like it was last prize in a charity auction. It’s this look that screams _help me_. It’s this look that tells me you want an out already.”

Finn turns away from Kurt, examining his driver’s license with intent. Not saying anything is probably the best option, because he wants to tell Kurt to go jump in one of those bonfires he likes so much. Kurt’s supposed to be Rachel’s best friend, and he’s Finn’s brother; surely he should be able to see how good him and Rachel are for each other? Perhaps he’s just pissed that Blaine’s barely said two words to him since they reached the airport. 

“I’m very happy with my option,” Kurt says, so casually Finn’s not entirely convinced. “Blaine’s my soulmate. I’ve told him not to distract me, though. The blogs Rachel showed me say my program of study is very rigorous.”

Blaine, Finn knows, won’t see things that way. He’s jealous enough when Kurt and him are in the same room, let alone when he’s surrounded by a zillion other talented gay theater guys. 

Soon, they’re ushered to the counter and checked in by a clerk who hands them their boarding passes with the wan smile that conveys how weary a front-line customer service job can be. Afterwards, Finn walks over to the Cold Stone, feeling the weight very much on him despite dropping off his suitcases. Kurt won’t drop it about Rachel; he tells Finn he doesn’t want to be stifled by dating someone who sets nightly check-ins to discuss what he did wrong that day. Finn retorts that Kurt won’t miss Blaine because putting a bow tie on a Fleshlight while an 80s cheese playlist is on in the background is pretty much the same experience.

By the time they sit down at their booth, Blaine and Rachel are chatting away about ideas for the senior class play, including _Yentl_ and _Jewtopia_. In contrast, Kurt is pinching down on Finn’s inner wrist to silence him and shooting him a glare that tells him he shouldn’t be talking at all.

“Here’s your shake, Finn!” Rachel says, gesturing to the sundae glass like it’s a prize. “I got them to add extra caramel. Sugar-free, of course.”

“Thanks! Where’s your food?” Finn says to Rachel.

“They were out of sorbet. They only had frozen lemonade. I suppose it’s not nearly as nice as the frozen lemonade in New York.”

Finn nods at her. “There’s that famous place from _King of Queens_. I know it’s tacky, but I can’t wait to score tickets to a Mets game and eat like, five candy apples,” Finn says. He takes a large slurp of his shake, the sugar-free caramel giving it a weird aftertaste. “God, New York is going to be so awesome, right guys?”

Blaine wordlessly takes a slurp from his own shake, and Finn kinda wants to shake _him_.

“If you’re just going to do the same activities in New York that you do in Lima, why are you even moving?” Rachel asks him.

“Rachel?” Finn tries to smile. “We’ve been through this.”

Rachel takes a long slurp of her lemonade, her face looking like she’s drinking something far more acidic. “Kurt, tell your brother to stop being silly.”

“Blaine?” Finn says. “Tell Kurt to tell Rachel she’s the silly one because she’s telling me I should be having second thoughts when _she_ was the first one to have second thoughts!”

The table of what appear to be European tourists opposite them swivel their heads around and pretend they’re not eavesdropping. Rachel is wearing a glare even bigger than Kurt’s sundae, and Kurt’s examining his phone as though it’s the most interesting thing ever.

Blaine sits in silence, drinking his shake. He appears to be staring into space until his eyes fly open. “Ow!” he says, looking between Kurt and Finn. “Did you just kick me?”

Finn smirks at him. “Can’t help it, dude. I’m kinda gangly.” 

Kurt looks at his watch. “You two crazy kids have forty minutes to kiss and make up. Come on, Blaine. Let’s finish these and check out the summer sale at Brooks Brothers. I’ll see you after security, Finn. Gangle your way somewhere else.”

\--

A little over forty minutes later, Kurt strolls up to the departures area to meet Finn. His hair is rumpled, but to his credit he’s at least carrying a shopping bag. Finn’s own goodbye with Rachel goes exactly as he’d predicted it; they made out in an airport bathroom and confirmed Rachel’s plans to fly out for Labor Day weekend. That’s not really _that_ far away at all. As she cries, he tells her that he loves her, and he misses her already, and his apartment won’t be a home until she’s there in New York with him. He kisses her goodbye, feeling a little guilty that he’s so good at telling her what she wants to hear.

“I think your shirt’s on inside out,” Kurt says, and lifts a piece of toilet paper from Finn’s shoulder. “Oh for the -- at least _try_ to look ashamed.”

“Yeah, and your hair’s like that because you and Blaine checked out the summer sale,” Finn says, using air quotes. 

“At least we didn’t do whatever it is straight people do in the backs of their cars.”

Finn bows his head. “Disabled bathroom, actually.”

“Ugh, that’s not even sanitary. How do you even _fit_ in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Finn says. He places his hands in his pockets and whistles, hopefully the very picture of mock innocence. “Did you, uh, put something in that banana bread? She’s been pretty, uh…” Finn searches for a politer term. “Eager?”

“Coconut oil. It brings all the girls to the yard.”

“Really?”

Kurt laughs, and pats Finn on the back. “If that were the case, everyone would be lining up to be vegan. The girl just finds you hot; no accounting for taste, I suppose. How are you holding up?”

“I feel alright, actually.” Finn pauses, deciding to explain given Kurt’s brow is arched so high it’s about to jump in the air. “I guess I’m fine because it doesn’t feel like I’m moving away, you know? It’s like we’re going on vacation. Guess it won’t sink in until the plane touches down and something better than bumfuck Ohio’s staring back at us.”

“All airports look the same,” Kurt says with a shrug, and gets out his phone.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” Kurt taps out a message, and looks up. “That was from Dad. I didn’t let him see me off because I knew _that_ would upset me. But Blaine? I’ve always known he was a year younger than me, and he’s always known New York was my future. It must be hard for Rachel, though. She was so convinced New York was hers, too.”

“It _is_ ,” Finn says. “It took a restraining order to keep her away, remember?”

Kurt grins. “From New York, or from you?”

\--

The thing is, Finn’s increasingly feeling less fine. The flight’s delayed, and he ends up eating several muffins from the Starbucks, more than a little pissed that the flight’s not departing from Concourse C which has a Buckeyes-themed cafe and a Johnny Rockets. Finn tells Kurt that he doesn’t want to deal with shitty airplane food, but Kurt must sense there’s something else going on given the way Finn’s clutching the plastic arm of his airport chair. Kurt rolls his eyes and wordlessly hands Finn a pill bottle, but Finn shakes his head. He’s not exactly scared of flying; it’s more the fact this is feeling less surreal now they’re about to board the plane.

Kurt pops two pills, and curls his hands into fists. It doesn’t stop him strolling towards the gate with wide, smooth strides when the first call for boarding is announced.

“What’s the plan?” Finn says, speeding up to keep pace. Kurt’s still growing, and wouldn’t _that_ be amusing, if he ends up being as tall as Finn? “Tell them you’re a model on your way to the fashion week?”

“Fashion Week is next month. I’m hoping they won’t notice I’m about to throw up my sundae.”

“I didn’t know you were that scared of flying.”

“It’s not the flying I’m scared of,” Kurt says. “It’s what comes after.”

“Landing?” Finn bumps Kurt’s shoulder. “Landing is awesome. It’s my favorite part! And you’re fine with heights. You love roller coasters more than I do!”

Kurt fires Finn a very frosty glare that makes Finn realize he’s completely missed the point. While Kurt’s pretty good at reading _Finn’s_ mind, he’s not too good at expressing what’s on his own sometimes. 

When they reach the gate, Kurt hands his boarding pass to the lady there with a thinly-pressed smile, his nose tipped up in a way that makes him look like he’s above it all. Finn hands over his own pass and requests a seat with a window view for his brother but even the smile Puck told him is _panty-dropping_ isn’t effective. The gate lady tells him that she can’t help him or his _brother with a different last name_ , spitting out the words so that the meaning is clear enough for even Finn to get.

“Goodbye, casual homophobia!” Kurt says, loudly enough the staff are bound to hear. “I hope I won’t be seeing _you_ in New York.”

“Not on my watch,” Finn says. He wraps his arm around Kurt. “I’ve got your back, okay?”

Kurt takes one shuddering breath, his cheeks turning blotchy. Finn remembers what Coach Beiste told him to do when he needed to focus on the field; he urges Kurt to take deep breaths, hold them for five, then exhale. It worked for Finn when he needed to slow down and think instead of beating the crap out of the idiot who’d just sacked him.

“You know, the irony is delicious,” Kurt says, not breaking contact. “As your brother, I’ve had more affection with you than my actual boyfriend.”

Finn affects a deep voice. “I like the way your shoulders fill out that shirt, _bro_.”

Kurt cracks a laugh. “Oh my god, _never_ be gay. You’d be laughed out of any bar in Brooklyn,” he says, handing his boarding pass over to the cabin crew at the plane door. “You couldn’t be any straighter,” he says, as they walk towards their seats. “Look at the way you were staring at her boobs!”

“Air hostesses are hot!”

“The _cabin crew_ are consummate professionals,” Kurt says. “Unlike Ann Coulter back there at the gate. You’ve been apart from Rachel for less than two hours, and your bed -- and apparently airport bathroom -- are still warm. You’re checking out other girls already?”

“Right. Because you’re not looking at the blond guy with the floppy hair.”

“I was admiring the cut of his suit. I think it’s Armani,” Kurt insists, as the two of them squeeze down the aisle towards the very back of the plane. It seems to take an age as people stow their bags in the overhead lockers, Finn offering to help several people as Token Tall Person. Their row turns out to be the penultimate one, with a woman who looks larger than both of them put together sat in the window seat. “Excuse me. Is there any chance you’d sit in the aisle?” Kurt asks her, politely.

The women doesn’t even turn around, and just grunts, “Hell no.”

“Ugh, are all New Yorkers so rude?” Finn says. “It’s a little auspicious.”

“Nice use of SAT vocabulary, Finn!” Kurt says happily. He hands his carry-on to Finn to stow in the overhead locker. “I could be a model, for all she knows,” he mutters, his Xanax kicking in. “Maybe _you_ could be a model. It’s hard to kick chairs when people are sat on ‘em, all over the front row.”

“You are so stoned,” Finn says, directing Kurt into his seat. When Kurt tries four times to fasten his seatbelt, Finn does the honors, which just makes Kurt giggle back at him. “Being a model sure would help us out with the rent, though.”

“And money is good. Or we’ll be sleeping in Bryant Park,” Kurt says, slurring his _rs_.

“Not even Central Park?”

“Space is at a premium, Finn. Even for the homeless,” Kurt says, then promptly passes out.

\--

The blond flight attendant in the maybe-Armani smiles fondly when he sees how zonked Kurt is, and gives Finn a pile of blankets. Kurt snores softly, his head resting on Finn’s shoulder. He’s never been a huge fan of take-off, but it’s smooth, and he spends the ascent eating several tiny packs of airplane pretzels. He reaches for his iPad, and by the second episode of _Sons of Anarchy_ he has to poke the Kurt bundle so the flight attendant can see he has his seatbelt on the for descent.

“Hey, Kurt?” Finn says, poking him again. “Kurt? Wake up?”

Kurt rubs at his eyes, a little sleep-mussed. “Have we taken off yet?”

“Taken off? We’re about to touch down in New York!” Finn says, craning his neck to see what he can out of the window. “That looks like Manhattan, and I think that’s the Hudson River where Captain Sully ditched the --” Finn stops himself just in time, given the look of terror on Kurt’s face. “Oh my God, that’s the Empire State!” he trills.

“Great.” Kurt’s sleepy countenance fades, his composure quickly returning. If Finn didn’t know Kurt as well as he did, he’d say his brother was pretty pissed about being here in New York. “If we’d checked in earlier and you hadn’t fooled around with your fiancée, I might actually be able to see the views you’re talking about.”

“You were the one checking out the _summer sale_.”

“Sorry.” Kurt yawns. “Xanax comedown.”

“You need to learn some relaxation techniques, man. It’s not healthy to just dope yourself up. Seriously, you were out cold from the moment I fastened your seatbelt. I had to put up with my own company for two whole hours.”

“Two hours of listening to yourself think? My sincerest condolences.”

Finn flips Kurt off, and doesn’t even flinch when the plane touches down with only the tiniest of bumps. “Ignoring you.”

\--

The plane waits at the gate for what seems like forever, and they both get their phones out, knowing they shouldn’t _technically_ be using them but also wanting to take a really cheesy selfie to post on Facebook so his mom and Burt won’t worry. Finn passes the time playing a few rounds of _Candy Crush_ and watches Kurt manipulate tiny versions of himself and Blaine on _The Sims FreePlay_ out of the corner of his eye.

“Is everything okay, Kurt?” Finn says.

“I…” Kurt looks away from where the blond flight attendant is animatedly chatting with a colleague by the galley area of the plane. “I really should compliment him. He’s _very_ well-dressed.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Finn says. “You have a boyfriend.”

“He’s cute! What’s so bad about a little eye flirting,” Kurt says, then lowers his voice. “Blaine eye flirts all the time.”

“Remember _Chandlergate_?” Finn reminds him.

“Okay, fine.” Kurt sets down his phone, folds his hands over his chest and glares at Finn. “I have a boyfriend who’s the jealous type. But he’s not here, is he?”

“That doesn’t mean you have a license to _eye flirt_ with any guy in tight pants. Don’t give him anything to be jealous about, yeah?” Finn says. Finally, the crowd of people at the front start to deplane, and they slowly make their way off the plane and away from the flight attendant with -- okay, Finn can see it too -- a pretty nice butt. “Come on, let's go get our suitcases and grab an airport pretzel.”

“Since breakfast you’ve had…” Kurt ticks off his fingers. “A giant shake, a bacon double cheeseburger and fries, a share-size bag of M&Ms, three muffins, six bags of airplane pretzels, a --”

“Those were tiny airplane pretzels. Now I need a giant one. It’s like, a metaphor or something.”

“I will never understand you,” Kurt mutters, swinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Not now, not when you’re thirty, and not when you’re eighty and break a hip trying to dance to _Journey_ at your granddaughter’s wedding.”

“Hate to break it to you, Kurt, but if you can’t understand a dope like me, you’re going to have issues at NYADA.”

Kurt sighs, and steers Finn in what he hopes is the direction of the Auntie Anne’s. “Don’t I just know it.”

It’s early in the evening by the time they manage to find a cab that’ll take them to their apartment. The humidity quickly gives way to a thunderstorm. Rain plinks off the roof of their cab, the sidewalks turning shiny and gray. It doesn’t take away from the magnificent skyline that soon comes into view. The skyscrapers give way to graffiti and community gardens as they drive down Morgan Avenue. The cab takes what Finn’s pretty sure is a longer route than necessary as it twists and turns through smaller residential side streets.

This, then, is home.

There are more stores here than in the whole of Lima’s downtown, including a Mini-Mart and a liquor store as well as laundromats, salons, and pawn shops. The houses themselves are built to look similar, but are distinguished from each other by the number of bicycles chained to the front railings and the care their owners have taken over the front yard. Rowhouses, Kurt calls them. Finn gives Kurt a quizzical look when their taxi driver finally pulls up.

“You want _donuts_?” Finn pauses. “You laughed at me for wanting pretzels, and --”

“I don’t want donuts. At least, not right now. That’s our apartment building.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s a donut shop.”

Kurt sighs. Finn’s pretty sure the guy’s rolling his eyes. “Our apartment is above the donut shop.”

“Oh my god, you are the best brother ever!”

“And you’ll be the fattest brother ever,” Kurt retorts.

Finn tips the driver generously before helping Kurt haul his own suitcases up the front steps. Kurt’s chattering away, explaining all the good things about their new neighborhood. He tells Finn about the public transit, and the best Zagat-rated coffee shops, and something about a parcel drop. Finn mostly tries to pay attention, but as he hauls their last suitcase, he turns around and lets out a protracted breath. It’s finally sinking in that _this_ is his home, and it’s nothing like he thought New York would be.

“Well?” Kurt says, gesturing around their apartment with a flourish.

“It’s very, uh…” Finn pauses. It doesn’t take him long to see the accommodation on offer. “Cosy?” he offers. “I mean, utilities will be pretty cheap.”

“Yes, because _you_ could find a two bedroom apartment on our budget.”

“This isn’t a two bed place. I don’t even think this is a _one_ bed place.”

“Trade-offs, Finn,” Kurt says. “The only other place I could find was some loft in Bushwick which is even further out for my commute. I know Rachel had this romantic dream of a _Sex and the City_ style loft, but this is far more practical, and part furnished,” he says. He drops his satchel on the fake leather couch, and gestures to it with a scowl. “This has to go, though.”

“My bedroom area smells like a bakery,” Finn says. “I’ll be eating away my financial aid.”

Kurt takes Finn’s arm in his and leads him to the large window. “It’s worth it. Look, you can see _everything_.”

Finn can see everything. That also means that everyone walking past their apartment building can see everything, too, and he mentally puts _window coverings_ at the top of his very short shopping list of things he needs for the apartment. He looks out, seeing a group of people in the building opposite sat on their front steps drinking iced drinks, and a young woman trying to juggle her Blackberry and brown paper bags full of groceries. Him and Kurt know nothing about their neighbors, and their neighbors won’t know they’re two guys from Podunk, Ohio.

“Our very own blank slate,” Kurt says, resting one of his hands on the bare brick wall. “I’m not _that gay kid_ , and you’re not _the quarterback_. You have to admit, it’s refreshing.”

 _Huh_. Finn nods, mutely, watching some kid skateboard through the puddles on the sidewalk. He then looks down at his feet, which rest on a rug which covers slightly rough floorboards. He feels a flush creep up his neck; part of him thinks it’s to do with the fact they need to open some windows to let in the fresh evening air, but he’s also sure it’s to do with Kurt’s sneaky mind-reading skills. The guy really ought to start charging.

\--

That night, Finn does the bare minimum of unpacking and tries out the shower, surprised to find the water pressure is amazing. He changes into his sweats and joins Kurt, who’s already showered and has some chocolate-scented gunk over his face. They make a joint Skype call to tell Burt and Carole they’ve arrived in one piece. Kurt washes off his face gunk, then he walks into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of champagne. Sheepishly, he admits he’d been saving it for when he and Rachel opened their NYADA letters together. Kurt apologizes for not having an ice bucket, and Finn thinks champagne tastes like those stale biscuits you get right before KFC closes.

Still, Kurt seems to enjoy it. They order two pizzas from two different delivery places, and sit down to watch old _Friends_ reruns; while the apartment is furnished with the bare minimum, he guesses the previous tenants didn’t really feel the need to take the clunky CRT television set with them. They sit down, discussing their plans for decorating the place, and how they’ll tackle college.

Soon, though, talk turns to other aspects of their lives.

“Do you think Rach was exaggerating when she said her fathers named her after that woman from _Friends_?” Finn says, swallowing down his slice of extra pepperoni. “I mean, she’s already a spoiled brat and I’m pretty sure she’d have been a runaway bride if we did end up impulse marrying, but --”

“Well, you _are_ always on a break,” Kurt says.

Finn shakes his head “We aren’t now. Technically. And if I was engaged to a douche like Ross, I wouldn’t want him anywhere near me. These guys have it good, though. Having all their best friends right across the hall. Sam lived down the hall, and Puck only lived a couple blocks away. I’m going to miss that.”

“You still have me.”

“Yeah, but…” Finn waves his hand around, his throat feeling like concrete. Champagne really isn’t his drink. “I won’t have football, or Glee. How the hell am I even going to _make_ friends?”

“All you need to do is smile that goofy grin,” Kurt says, almost a little sadly. “My class is mostly male, and I can’t imagine that will work out well for me. Not with Blaine breathing down my neck on Facebook.”

“That’s ridiculous. Rachel never gets mad at me for having --” Finn pauses. “Yeah. You’re right. She’ll kill me for even looking.” 

“Looking is healthy,” Kurt says, refilling his own glass, and Finn’s before Finn can protest. “Being healthy is a goal to which we should all aspire. And besides, I can’t blame Rachel for being jealous. You weren’t exactly subtle about that air hostess.”

“Cabin crew, Kurt. Isn’t that the proper term?”

Kurt snorts. “Great. Not even one night in New York, and you’re a smartass.”

“Oh, this is only the start of my smartassery,” Finn says, trying some more of the champagne. Maybe his throat’s numb, but it tastes a lot better than it did earlier. “Isn’t that what college is supposed to be about?”

Kurt sets his pizza box down on the empty suitcase they’re using as a makeshift coffee table. “That and,” he affects a gruff voice. “Babes.”

“Well, yeah. Ms. Pillsbury said the social sciences were big on participant observation, so I’m writing my first paper on the physics of bikinis during slip'n'slides,” Finn says, with a grin.

They end up finishing the bottle of champagne, both a little giggly, and watching an old episode of _Mythbusters_. Finn goes to bed by midnight, which is earlier than he’s gone to bed over the entire course of his summer break so far. He’s pretty sure that him and Kurt will be so busy with work and college that the only time they’ll see a slip'n'slide is on one of those trashy reality shows Kurt watches where people get drunk on spring break.

Given how jealous Rachel and Blaine can be, that’s probably for the best.

The first few weeks rush by in a flurry of decorating and last-minute stationery purchases, and Finn barely even has enough time to figure out the subway by the time his classes start. His very first step after registering is checking out the student clubs because he doesn’t want to be _that_ guy who’s clinging onto his brother like a limpet. There’s Buddhist Meditation, which Kurt tells him will be full of guys who look like lumberjacks, and Kurt’s not wrong. The only group that looks interesting is one that sends students to volunteer as assistants for kids who need Special Ed, which he thinks is probably a bit much for a freshman.

On his first day, he makes thirty six new Facebook friends and remembers three names.

After grabbing some coffee with two psychology majors he’s met -- Jenn and Cindy, who both have much larger boobs than Rachel to her likely dismay -- he makes his way home across Brooklyn. Even in the few weeks he’s lived in New York, he’s learned to dread the G train. He grabs an iced mocha and a frozen lemonade from the donut shop below his apartment, and walks up the stairs at a snail’s pace .

“Hey, Kurt!” Finn says, surprised the heat hasn’t sucked his voice away. “Got you a drink.”

Kurt whines. He’s sat on the wooden floor, his legs splayed out in front of him and his back against the highly impractical pleather couch they still haven’t found a replacement for. He’s wearing a pair of workout shorts with stars on one side and stripes on the other that fall low on his hips, and he’s clutching a bag of frozen corn against his chest.

Finn groans, passing Kurt his drink. “Air con out again?”

“I’m not sure it was ever on,” Kurt says, immediately taking a slurp of his mocha.

Finn knows a lot about growing up with temperamental air con given the less than modern facilities at his childhood home. “We could go see a movie?” he offers. “Or maybe the mall? Do they even have malls in New York?”

Kurt crunches on some ice, then offers Finn a smile. “Shopping trip?”

“Sure. I’ll find the coolest spot and crash out on the floor. They’ll think I’m one of those mannequins.”

“Good plan. You won’t knock things over, then.”

Finn takes a large slurp of his lemonade, and wonders if Kurt would bitch him out for stripping off and pouring the remains of the drink down his pants. Given the state of the rug, it’s probably seen way worse. “You can tell it’s hot,” he says. “Your snark’s as weak as I’m feeling right now.”

Kurt peels his sweaty back away from the couch with a _schlerp_ and stands up. “I’m making you buy an outfit for that. In fact, I’m making you buy one anyway. Don’t you want to look New York good for when Rachel visits?”

“I have two suits!”

“You also have the freshman fifteen,” Kurt says, gently poking Finn’s stomach.

Finn looks down at his belly, which is protruding just a little over the khaki shorts he’s wearing. Okay, he has to admit Kurt has a point. Then again, Kurt’s put on a few as well. It’s not like it was _Finn’s_ idea to live in an apartment above a shop selling super cheap donuts.

\--

The mall isn’t that far away, so all they have to do is take the subway to Times Square and change trains. Times Square feels like another planet to Finn; it’s the one place in the world he can think of where even Kurt can disappear into the crowd. Finn, though, is conscious that he stands out in his bright yellow shirt against the browns, blacks and grays of the harried commuters. He guesses that if he chose a major in economics, that _could_ be him, and can understand why Mr. Schue felt so ill at the prospect of accountancy. The R train turns out to be clean and quiet. Even in the early evening, the temperature is in the low 90s and Finn sighs with happiness the moment the frigid mall air hits his skin.

“Want something to eat?” Finn says. He looks around, surprised to note the mall is like every Midwestern one he’s seen before. It’s almost comforting; he’s half-convinced his mom will pop up between visits to mom stores like Lane Bryant to tell him not to spend all his cash at the music store.

“Can it be frozen?”

Finn nods, and they find a Hagen-Dazs store. He can understand why Kurt only orders one scoop of strawberry sorbet. The frigid mall air doesn’t make up for the rest of the day’s heat-sapping. They should have just taken their swimwear and jumped into the mall fountain.

“I hope it cools off by the start of September,” Finn says. “I don’t think Rach will appreciate me wearing my tighty whities around the apartment.”

“Pretty sure she’ll deal,” Kurt says.

“You said the sight made you lose your appetite last week,” Finn says. He stares down at his rapidly melting cup of ice cream. “Hey, Kurt, you got a little…” Finn swipes his thumb across Kurt’s cheek. “There.”

Kurt makes this odd sniffling noise. “Oh, _Blaine_ ,” he says, quietly, and dabs at the corner of his mouth with a serviette.

“You really miss him, huh?” Finn says, aware he perhaps sounds a little doubting.

Kurt pauses. “I remember getting ice cream with him at the Lima Mall. He always used to wipe my mouth using one of those silly monogrammed handkerchiefs of his. We thought we were so grown up that summer,” he says, and takes another lick from his cone before continuing. “That first summer was crazy. Remember how gross our parents were being? We told them we felt ill, but deep down, we loved seeing them so happy?”

Finn laughs. “Yeah. That was weird.”

“I’d drive us both to the mall in my Nav, and we’d sit in the Cinnabon, butts hurting on those hard plastic seats. We’d stare at the table, and at our phones, and you’d pick off the raisins one by one. We just didn’t know what to talk about!”

“That’s a pretty cool scarf, Kurt!” Finn says, in the manner of his sixteen year-old self.

“How was practice, Finn?” Kurt says, but his smile drops a little. “Maybe two weeks into that awkward summer, something happened. We both realised that Rachel and Blaine spent so much time talking to us that we _enjoyed_ the silence.”

“Forget Broadway. You need to follow Burt into politics. You didn’t answer my question at all!”

“I do miss him. Of course I miss him. But…” Kurt slumps over a little. “I can’t help but think that if I had stayed behind, I’d be missing everything I have here even _more_.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s nothing left for me in Lima, now. Even my father’s thinking of bailing out and letting Terry or Wayne take over the shop,” Kurt says. “Really, without family, what reason would we have to go back?”

“Uh, did he want _me_ to take over? Because working with cars was cool, but I wasn’t exactly a natural, and Burt never really said he was happy with my --”

“Expecting you to take over isn’t the same as _wanting_ you to take over,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah.” Finn nods, and stares into his ice cream puddle as the pair fall into silence. It’s not the comfortable silence they had during their time at the mall in that first summer. “I’ll be honest; I think it’s sort of weird that I don’t find myself missing Rach that much. I mean…” he coughs, knowing Kurt will read something into his hesitation. “I haven’t really had _time_ to miss her. Maybe it’ll get harder as the semester goes on?”

Kurt’s face isn’t quite readable. One of his brows is raised, and his lips are pressed tightly together in a thin line. Finn’s not quite sure if he’s disapproving of Finn, or disbelieving.

“It’s cool,” Finn says, more for his own benefit. “Everything will be cool once she’s here.”

\--

After a trip to the restroom to wash their ice cream-sticky hands and faces, Kurt drags Finn into the H&M. Finn flinches when he catches his reflection in the mirror; in his yellow shirt and khaki shorts, he looks like a giant dorky ear of corn. He scans the seemingly endless rows of clothing, and has no idea where to start.

“Well?” Kurt prompts. “What do you like wearing?”

Finn shrugs. “Clothes?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, and gives Finn the sort of withering _Carole still buys you your underwear_ look. The only clothes Finn has that Kurt’s ever approved of have been the old suit of his father’s that Kurt says fits like a glove, and a lilac shirt that apparently makes his eyes pop. (Gruesome, but apparently in fashion that’s a good thing.) Kurt rummages around behind an orange sweater with blue triangles on that even Finn can see is ugly, and pulls out something that looks like it would belong on a younger Mr. Schue.

“I am _not_ wearing a sweater vest!” Finn protests. “I’ll look like a freaking golf player.”

“But it’s so versatile!”

“Versatile? It’s a damn sweater. What else can it do, cook me dinner or something?”

The guys browsing nearby snicker, until Finn shoots them a death glare. Looking like a giant ear of corn doesn’t make Finn any less threatening, it seems. Kurt talks his ear off about capsule wardrobes, and trips to Atlantic City, and how he hates that orange really _is_ the new black while Finn tries to work out who’s singing the terrible cover of Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” they’re playing.

“What about that?” Finn says, pointing at a dark blue shirt with wide white stripes.

Kurt looks like Finn’s bought him a much-wanted gift. “Breton stripes, yes! Very James Dean.”

“Cool. D’you think they have any leather jackets so --”

“No.” Kurt scoops several plain-colored shirts into a floppy net bag, and then holds up one with the AC-DC logo on the front. “If you _have_ to look like an aged rock star at eighteen…”

“I have loads of band shirts. Rach never lets me wear ‘em. Not even my _The Get Up Kids_ one!”

“It’s from 2004. Girl has a point.”

“That was from the Honda Civic Tour!”

Kurt snickers. “How do you even _fit_ a shirt you bought when you were ten?”

Finn shrugs, and peers into the net bag. “Is that all you want me to try on?”

“It’s a capsule wardrobe.”

“Oh, ‘cause you want to put everything I have in a time capsule?”

Laughing, Kurt places a hand on Finn’s forearm and steers him towards the fitting rooms. “The idea is that you buy a small number of clothes which all match. Everything in here coordinates -- reds, blues and whites. Primary colors. Let’s try them on! I want to see if you really do have a butt under those Dad jeans you always wear.”

Finn grins. “You’ve wanted to do this ever since you met me, haven’t you?”

“Since before you were _born_ ,” Kurt amends, walking with something of a spring in his step.”

\--

Finn tugs on the pair of jeans picked out for him, wiggling his hips a little to get them all the way up. He’s not sure they qualify as jeans. In fact, he’s fairly sure that if he went on Wikipedia, he’d find a little graphic of them listed under torture devices. They’re almost black in color, and the waist rides low on his hips, his stomach pouching a little over the top. They _do_ show that he has a butt, and they also show off certain areas that Finn’s pretty sure should only be on show at places like that _Scandals_ club back in Lima.

“Did you make me try on girls’ jeans?” Finn says, poking his head around the door of his cubicle.

“They don’t make women’s jeans in your size,” Kurt says, adjusting his bangs in the fitting room mirror. “You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s what my mom said when Pat’s decreased the size of their kolaches.” Finn snorts, and finally manages to do up the top button. “Large pastry my ass.”

Kurt clicks his fingers. “Come on! Show me!”

Tentatively, Finn makes sure that there’s nobody else in their corner of the fitting room. He places his hands in front of his groin and steps out the cubicle. “They’re, er…” Finn pauses. “Pinchy,” he says, which isn’t the word he’d use with Puck.

“Oh my.” Kurt whistles through his teeth. “I think you might want a size up in those. That shirt looks lovely, though. Burgundy is definitely your color.”

“Yeah?”

Kurt nods. “Of course.” He turns around, gesturing to the back of his sweater which for some reason zips up at the back. It’s also bright blue and has peacocks on it, but that’s by no means the weirdest thing Finn’s seen Kurt wear even in the past week. “Zip me up?”

“Sure.” Finn reaches for the zipper, but the small metal fastener slips from his large thumbs. He tugs it down a little and tries to zip it back up again, revealing more of Kurt’s bare back. Finn feels so lumpy and ungainly in his stupidly tight jeans, and while Kurt’s not exactly muscled like Sam or Puck, he’s been working out and it shows. His back is smooth, and his waist does that tapered thing that Mike Chang’s does.

“Seriously, Finn? It’s just a zip.”

Finn tries one more time, tugging the two sides of fabric together. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his fingers slipping a little until they inadvertently touch the bare skin at the curve of Kurt’s spine. The skin here’s even smoother than it looks, and Finn dips his fingers down just a little, right to where Kurt’s skin is covered by the waistband of his shorts.

Kurt shivers, then turns around. He glares at Finn, and folds his arms across his chest. “Get a larger size,” he snaps.

“What?” Finn protests. “That top’s weird, but you’re rocking that… thing.”

“I know,” Kurt says. “I look fantastic. Unlike you and those jeans you’re trying to wear.”

Almost on its own accord, Finn’s hand moves up to rest on Kurt’s shoulder. He gives the knob of bone there a squeeze in the way that he always does to reassure Kurt, and offers him an easy smile. “What’s wrong?” he says. “You said I looked good?”

Kurt brushes Finn’s hand away and then reaches behind his own back with both arms, managing to zip his sweater himself. “Maybe for Rachel. A lack of dress sense is one of the few things you two actually have in common.”

“Hey. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but don’t take it out on my fiancée like that, okay?”

“Fiancée?” Kurt snaps, managing to look angry despite his weird peacock sweater and orange shorts. “Really now, Finn? You’ve talked about her more in these past five minutes than you have these past three weeks.”

Finn flips him off and swings open the door of his cubicle. “That’s more than _you_ talked about Blaine,” he says.

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping things private, unlike _some_ people and their loudly melodramatic goodnight Skype kisses.”

Finn’s composure is somewhat limited by the fact he can’t get out of his stupidly tight jeans. No wonder Kurt’s so pissy all the time; the damn things cut off the circulation to your brain. “Yeah, whatever. You want me to ask the sales assistant if they got a size that fits your ego?”

“Sure. Better to have a large ego than a small brain,” Kurt replies.

If Finn could take his jeans off faster, he’d storm out of the dressing room and make his own way back to the apartment. He’s too tired to argue, and he’s been told he’s stupid so many times on his almost nineteen years on the planet that he’s pretty much immune to all that by now.

The words themselves don’t hurt. What does hurt is the fact they’re coming from _Kurt_.

Finn’s only crime that afternoon was not being able to fit into some clothes and not being able to help Kurt fit into his. Even though Kurt’s probably pissed off at something completely unrelated, it still makes Finn feel like some lumpy, awkward manchild for the first time since he moved to New York.

When Finn finally manages to change into his own clothes, Kurt’s already left the mall. They go home separately, and Kurt texts Finn to say that he’s getting together with some classmates to go over his stagecraft assignment. Finn decides to forget about it; they were sticky, and cranky, and on the cusp of ice cream headaches. He ends up buying the shirt and some new jeans anyway. 

By the Friday of the weekend before Labor Day, Kurt tells Finn that his friend Adam from college has set him up with a job at a singing diner, and he works third shift a lot because nighttime customers give better tips. Finn’s barely seeing his brother at all. 

“I’m home!” Kurt declares. It’s seven in the morning, and Finn’s just about to leave for his first class. “I said, I’m home!” Kurt replies.

“Heard you the first time. Did you bring me back anything?”

Kurt nods and places a brown bag on the cheap coffee table Kurt bought from Craigslist. Finn opens it, finding a slightly squashed cheeseburger. His appetite hasn’t exactly faded in the heat, and he’ll be glad for sweater weather, not least because it’ll hide the ten pounds he’s packed on.

“Lukewarm burgers are pretty gross,” Finn says, taking a large bite of the burger anyway. “Got ketchup?”

“In the kitchen,” Kurt says. He snicks open a can of pop, and takes a large sip. “The burgers were warm when I left, but I bumped in to Elliott.”

“Elliott?” Finn raises an eyebrow. “Is she one of the guys in your covers band?”

“ _He_ is just a friend.” Kurt pauses. “Who might happen to be gay.”

“Does Blaine know you’re chatting to other guys?” Finn says, hoping that the singing makes up for the rest of the diner food. He’s not had a crappier cheeseburger since the time him and Puck stopped off at a Burger King in Urbana and found a beetle in their lettuce.

“He knows what he needs to,” Kurt says, coolly. “Does Rachel know you’re chatting to other girls?” he counters, then does a small whistle through his teeth when Finn fails to reply. “You and Cindy were looking pretty close during your _working study date_ last weekend.”

Finn decides it’s perhaps best to change the subject. “I can’t believe Rachel gets here this afternoon!”

“You sound _so excited_ ,” Kurt says, sarcasm dripping from him like syrup. He passes Finn the ketchup. “I’m staying with my friend Dani so you two crazy kids can catch up. That’s short for _Danielle_ , before you suggest anything.”

“Thanks, bro. Appreciate it.”

Kurt shrugs. He reaches into the fruit bowl and grabs an apple, turning it in his hand before he takes a large bite. The uneasy tension from the mall is still there, and Finn wishes he knew what was bothering Kurt so they could go back to the easiness of their first month in the city. “I’m going to put my head down for a nap,” Kurt says. “Give Rachel my love, Finn.”

“Always,” Finn says, realizing that perhaps his brother’s just exhausted. Between nights at the diner and evenings rehearsing for class, he’s barely slept at all.

\--

The afternoon sky is bright and clear in New York, but ominously gray in the Midwest, causing Rachel’s flight to be delayed by severe thunderstorms. Finn almost feels disappointed when Rachel’s plane takes off after all. He paces around the apartment, wondering whether he should wear the clothes Kurt picked for him or go for his usual stuff. In the end, he decides not to shave and wears his normal summer shorts. If he looks like he’s made an extra effort, Rachel will suspect he’s trying to hide something. She likes to pretend she’s observant that way, but -- Finn learned a word in class that describes it perfectly -- she’s actually kind of obtuse.

He arrives at the airport in good time and is mid-way through his second can of pop when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Finn!” Rachel says, her voice squeaking over the _i_. She’s pulling a bright pink suitcase behind her which looks suspiciously large for a weekend trip. “Look at you, oh, you look so handsome!” she says, then tiptoes up to fling herself at his chest, suitcase still in hand. “You’re so grown up! Is that a beard? I know you’ve been busy, but have you been too busy to _shave_?”

Finn’s not sure he’d call three days of skipping shaving a beard. “Hey, you,” he says, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You ready to be shown around by a real New Yorker?”

“Let me have my moment,” Rachel says, and brings their faces together for a kiss.

There’s something a little off about her, Finn thinks. She still looks beautiful, but maybe there’s a new perfume, or a different body lotion. Perhaps it’s just the heat and exertion of her delayed flight, and he instantly feels awful that he’s not head over heels.

“Well?” Rachel steps back, her hands clasped in front of her. “What do you think?”

“Think? Uh…” Finn looks across to Rachel’s boobs, then her stomach which is as flat as it’s ever been -- thank goodness, because he’s pretty sure she’d never get pregnant to keep him in Lima, despite her less than savory tactics in dealing with the NYADA admissions board.

Rachel scowls, and flicks her braid over her shoulder.

“Oh, your hair!” Finn says. He picks up her suitcase with one hand, and holds Rachel’s hand with the other. “It’s… it’s nice, real nice,” he says, not quite able to believe that Rachel’s deep brown hair is highlighted to a sort of brassy gold color. She doesn’t really look like _his_ Rachel at all. “What made you change?”

“Tina and Blaine gave me a New York makeover; I tried a few community theater auditions, and they all said I didn’t look quite _right_ to be the leading lady. Different look, same me?”

Finn laughs, letting go of her hand to gesture to himself. “Same look, same old me.”

“Do you like the new Rachel?” Rachel says, less the woman with bright pink lips and black leather shorts, and more the scared girl in a pantsuit who looked behind her shoulder for slushies whenever she was walking the halls at McKinley.

“What was wrong with the _old_ Rachel?” Finn says, hoping she can’t read between the lines.

Rachel strides ahead, her head held high. “Everything,” she says, giving Finn a smile that looks anything but happy.

\--

Rachel insists on taking a cab. It’s already five by the time they leave the airport, and the cab is stuck in commuter traffic, grinding to a halt on the stretch of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway just outside of Williamsburg. It’s not particularly scenic, and Rachel glumly stares out the window like she’s sucked on a bunch of sour candies. When they finally arrive, Finn walks up the steps to their apartment, explaining that they do _not_ actually live in the donut shop. On his way up the stairs, Finn calls out a _hey_ to his neighbor Jackie who’s just returned from walking her adorable mutt of a puppy.

“I suppose it’s good she keeps herself to herself,” Rachel says. “She looks a little…” She lowers her voice. “ _Skanky_.”

“Skanky?” Finn chuckles. “Jackie’s a trainee architect. Anyway, welcome to Casa del Furt!”

Finn opens the door to his apartment, and Rachel’s squeak isn’t one of delight. Deep down, Finn knew before he even opened the door that it wouldn’t meet her expectations. He puts Rachel’s suitcase down by his bed, and immediately goes to fetch her a glass of water. He hates the fact he’ll have to tell her that she can only have a few ice cubes because they only have one shelf in the fridge freezer. He knows she’ll hate the fact they don’t have a dishwasher, which isn’t really that much of a loss given that him and Kurt mostly eat take-out or diner leftovers.

“Where’s Kurt?” Rachel asks. “Does he have rehearsal?”

“He’s rehearsing for his stagecraft class then staying with Dani this evening,” Finn says. _Obtuse_ , he reminds himself. “She’s one of his friends. He thought we’d appreciate some privacy.”

Rachel doesn’t look overjoyed. “Yes. Privacy is very important, though it would be more important to see my best friend. Did you put him up to that?”

“No. It was his idea.”

“Well. Can you show me to your shower?” Rachel says. “This city seems so dirty.”

Finn laughs hard. He walks the five steps towards the bathroom door and extends his hand with a dramatic flourish. Rachel scowls, and peers in as though it’s about to burst into flames. There’s enough of Kurt’s stuff in there to keep her comfortable; his brand new cotton bath sheets, and the vegan-friendly Lush products Rachel is welcome to use. 

It takes over an hour for Rachel to emerge. She’s free of make-up, her hair tied back off her face, and she’s wearing a fluffy robe with pink and purple hearts on the sleeves.

“Hey, babe,” Finn says, and playfully swats at the tie to her robe. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Not now, Finn,” Rachel says, clutching her robe more tightly around her. She perches on the edge of the couch, her hands placed in her lap. “Could we maybe just watch a movie tonight?”

Finn nods in agreement, and Rachel selects _The Vow_ from Kurt’s meager selection of DVDs that made the cut. Why such a terrible DVD made the cut, Finn doesn’t know. He looks longingly at his copy of _The Bourne Legacy_ which he’s still not got round to watching. It doesn’t feel right that Kurt’s not here, not least because Finn ends up eating both his pizza and most of Rachel’s after he picks off the eggplant and vegan cheese. The movie’s so dull that even Rachel’s eyes drop, and so he turns it off, letting her fall asleep in his arms instead.

At around two, Finn thinks maybe they’d sleep better in an actual bed. He gently shakes Rachel awake, and leads her through to his sleeping area. He looks at Rachel, and his heart sinks at the fact he’s not sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. The way she’s being, he doesn’t even really want to spend the weekend with her. 

He stares at the posters on his walls, and hopes things will be different after they’ve both had some sleep.

“Finn! Wake up! I’m ready!”

It’s too bright. Finn scrubs at his eyes and sees an outline of Rachel slowly coming into focus. He sits up in his bed, rotating each of his shoulders in turn, and can see that she’s directly in front of him with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing the tiny leather shorts again with an orange shirt that’s sort of see through. Her black sandals don’t look suitable for a day of sightseeing.

“Ready for what?” Finn yawns. “It’s seven am. It’s _Saturday_.”

“I was expecting breakfast in bed,” Rachel says. “But given you’re not the most proficient of cooks, taking me out for breakfast is a nice compromise between romance and pragmatism.”

Ah. _That’s_ what he’s supposed to do. Three years of on-off dating and he still thinks Rachel Berry should come with a manual. “Yeah, I didn’t set my alarm because you looked so tired last night. I thought you might want to sleep in a little. Why don’t you shower and let me make you a coffee?”

“You’re so considerate,” Rachel says, smiling. “Caffeine make me bloat, though. Do you have any green tea?” She pauses. “Does _Kurt_ have any green tea?”

Kurt does, but it smells and looks like pond weed and Finn’s never had a desire to drink it, let alone make the stuff. “How about I grab you a juice from the place down the street?” Finn says, having no idea where he might be able to find one. Thankfully, Google informs him of a food truck that apparently does the best vegan breakfast bars in Brooklyn.

\--

They both sit on the couch, drinking their juices. Kurt must have come home evidenced by his shoes being by the door, but Finn tells Rachel to be quiet as he was working late. Rachel is effusive with praise for her eight dollar juice. They stare at the rug and make small talk -- what songs the newbies are singing in Glee; Rachel’s choice of “Fiddler on the Roof” for the senior play; Sue Sylvester’s latest war on the auditorium which actually included putting a trout inside Brad’s piano. When they’ve exhausted that, they move on to their old friends.

“Poor Blaine,” Rachel says, pushing her empty glass to one side. “He’s so lonely. Very, very lonely. Sam told me in confidence that he’s started making felt puppets.”

Finn chokes on his breakfast bar. “ _Felt_ puppets?”

“It isn’t funny,” Rachel says, eyes blazing. “He’s heartbroken!”

“Well, yeah, I’d miss Kurt too if I was back in Lima, but the guy needs to get a grip.”

Rachel shakes her head. “Is that what you think of me? That I need to _get a grip_ and I need to move on? Because…” She stops and looks at him dead on. “I have to be honest with you, Finn. Please don’t hate me, but I’m only able to spend the afternoon with you. I have to fly to Chicago this evening, but I promise, I’ll stay for longer next time and fly out with Blaine. Don't you think it’ll be so much fun exploring the city as a foursome?”

“Why the hell are you flying out to Chicago?” Finn says. “What the hell is there in Chicago for a tiny, dramatic vegan?”

“Art?” Rachel says, smiling brightly.

“What… kinda art? Because we’ve got The Met and The MoMA right here, and there’s the High Line if you want to...”

Rachel flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve always been keen on art history, particularly Impressionism,” Rachel says. “The MoMA emphasises the modern over the beautiful, and my fathers had some air miles, so…”

“The MoMA has a whole _room_ of those shitty water lilies,” Finn says, glaring at Rachel’s incredulous look. “Oh, come on. I’m not some art fan. Kurt made me check it out because it had the most efficient air con in the city. Cut the crap and tell me what’s actually going on.”

Rachel sighs. She looks guilty, but not nearly as guilty as Finn thinks she should for trying to pull such a lie. “I’m going for a meeting,” she explains, examining her nails. “My fathers have a friend in the theater community there, and Joe is very enthusiastic about the options Chicago offers. On the _highly unlikely_ chance NYADA turn me down, I think it benefits me to explore my options. Second choices shouldn’t have to mean settling.”

“Is that a dig at _me_?” Finn takes one final sip of his drink that does nothing to clear the lump in his throat. “Chicago’s a million miles away from New York, Rach. Did you even think about what this means for us?”

“I did,” Rachel says, placing her hand on Finn’s thigh. “I want us to be together so dearly.”

“So why not move here?” Finn says. “New York is the freaking center of the theater world!”

Rachel smiles, but it’s a little eerie. “I’m… I’m starting to wonder if maybe it’s not _my_ center,” she says. “Do you remember how Blaine’s brother told me there are plenty of cities where it’s possible to have a very active career in the arts? Well, I thought about Los Angeles, and I thought about San Francisco, and then I told myself, what city would _Finn_ like?”

Finn tries not to snort. “I like this one pretty well.”

“You wouldn’t like Chicago?” Rachel says.

“I dunno. Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Rachel removes her hand. “I think it’s silly to discount other options. It would be so easy to transfer, especially when you haven’t even decided on a major. You have no idea what you want to do after graduation; how can you get in the way of my future when you haven’t decided on yours?”

Finn glares at her. “I did. My future is here, and I’m sorry if you’re determined to make sure your future is somewhere else. What, is Blaine going to Chicago too?”

“Oh, and you and Kurt would _love_ that, wouldn’t you?” Rachel says.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Rachel sniffs at him. “You’re... very close. Even for brothers.” 

Finn points at her engagement ring. “ _That_ is the same commitment I have to Kurt, and it’s not like I can marry my brother. What happened to Rachel Broadway Berry?”

“Maybe she found New York wasn’t what she thought it would be,” Rachel admits, her eyes beginning to shine with tears. “Maybe she doesn't want to end up like every other Midwestern girl with big dreams who ends up in a city that swallows her ambition and talent. Maybe she wants to shine elsewhere. Why is that so wrong?”

Finn squints. “You look like Rachel Berry, but you sure as hell don’t _sound_ like Rachel Berry.”

“I must admit…” Rachel turns so that she’s facing Finn, folding her legs under her. She adjusts her hair so it falls down her back in soft waves, and almost looks like herself again. “You really don’t sound like my Finn.”

“This is who I am,” Finn says. “I can be who I want to be here.” 

Rachel smiles. “It’s just an afterthought, Chicago.”

“You never have afterthoughts,” Finn points out, because Rachel is as exacting as she is talented. “I love you, but is this really want you want?” 

Rachel purses her lips, her eyes lowered. “No. Take me next door,” she says, twirling a lock of hair that’s a color Finn just can’t get used to around her finger. 

Finn knows it’s not the answer, but he still lets Rachel take him by the hand into what barely passes for a bedroom, and smiles at her as she draws the blinds. She tells him that she’s sorry; that she loves him, and she’s deeply scared of losing him. She says she’s even more scared of losing herself. Rachel tells him that she’s in his corner, but Finn can’t help thinking that circumstances will end up putting them in completely different rooms.

\--

That afternoon, Rachel acts like her old self again. They spend their time together, not discussing anything about Chicago or college but instead buying sandwiches from Finn’s favorite deli and having a quick picnic in Bryant Park. They swing by Kurt’s diner, and Kurt even treats his best friend to a song. When Finn kisses Rachel goodbye at the airport that evening with promises to see each other at Thanksgiving, he’s pretty sure that mentioning moving to another city was just one of Rachel’s ways of making sure he was still serious about her. 

Finn arrives back at the apartment with the groceries to make carbonara, which is fast becoming his go-to dish. “Kurt? You home?”

Kurt, wearing an apron, has already started some sort of baking endeavor. “Where’s your Funny Girl, Nicky?”

“I’m not Nicky. I’ve not got any kind of criminal record, and I’ll never win my fortune at poker. Worst poker face ever,” Finn says, trying to affect a flat expression. “See?”

“Ugh. I know _that_ face,” Kurt says, gagging. “Someone got lucky, but why isn’t she here?”

“She, uh. Had to leave early,” Finn says. “Family stuff.”

“And how is she? Funny girl, or _funny_ girl?”

“A little of each, if I’m honest. You in the middle of something?”

“Not really. My plans for the evening extended to experimenting with my streusel recipe, and then hate-watching season two of _Sherlock_ with Blaine. Why, did you want to talk about what Rachel’s said to get your panties in a bunch?”

Finn hopes Kurt puts him ahead of watching a crap British TV show, although he also loves the idea of streusel and doesn’t want to get in the way of his brother baking delicious things. It’s the first time in days that Kurt’s even mentioned Blaine at all. Kurt had said Blaine had an art exhibition in Dayton that weekend and couldn’t fly out with Rachel, but the fact he has enough time to watch TV with Kurt suggests that there might be something else going on. 

Even something with five episodes takes up an evening, right? Unless _watching Sherlock_ is some weird gay metaphor for doing the nasty over Skype.

“I don’t have much to talk about,” Finn admits. “But I got the stuff for carbonara.”

“Oh, I was thinking we could order in,” Kurt says.

“Thai?” Finn says hopefully.

“Adam loves the place on the corner of Norman and Manhattan. The tamarind duck is to die for.”

Finn smiles, although he doesn’t really know what that actually _is_. He lets Kurt order one for him, anyway. Glumly, he watches Kurt smile his way through Blaine’s awful comments about _Sherlock_ while he pokes at his noodles. Kurt flashes him a few concerned looks, but not even a second passes before he’s back to making comments that have Kurt and Blaine laughing in unison. When the first episode finishes and Kurt and Blaine exchange their first _I love yous_ , Finn excuses himself to go to his bed and study for a test he claims to have the following morning.

It’s clear Kurt’s sailing through his long-distance relationship. Things are so going well for Finn and Kurt in the city, but the more Rachel gets to know New York, the clearer it is that Rachel doesn’t really know anything about New York. 

In fact, Finn thinks, she doesn’t really know anything about life after high school at all.

October continues much in the same vein as September. Kurt’s found so much thrifted furniture that their apartment looks nearly as effortlessly stylish as Kurt’s old room back in Lima. It’s not the over-baked, frilly brothel look that he threatened Finn with in high school. It’s crisp, and clean. Masculine, even. The brick walls are covered in old movie posters, and the awful fake leather couch finally goes, replaced with something Kurt says is _brocade_. That itself sounds more like the name of a Judd Apatow movie.

Finn’s making friends steadily, and Kurt’s playing regular gigs with his covers band. As the weeks have passed, Kurt’s spent less and less time in the apartment, but he’s busied himself by assembling flat pack furniture and redecorating at odd times of the day. One day, Finn returns from the fitness center to find there’s a bookshelf covered in random knick-knacks which have no function other than looking really cool.

“What’s the point of a bookshelf?” Finn asks. “The only books I have are Harry Potter.”

“It’s not just a bookshelf,” Kurt says, then walks over to the piece of furniture and slides the shelves apart. “It’s…”

“A secret passage?”

“No, better!” Kurt says. “It folds out into a bed, and acts a room divider. So we can turn your bedroom area into an activity nook.”

“That’s so cool! We have a _Transformers_ bed!”

“And, look!” Kurt says. “I arranged the position of the chaise so that I can have my sewing machine here,” Kurt says, and points across the living area. “And there’s enough room for your drum machine over there if you want it shipped to us. Why don’t you borrow my access key to the NYADA rehearsal rooms? You haven’t played _or_ sung since we moved here.”

Finn laughs. “You guys need a drummer bad, don’t you?”

“Well…” Kurt perches on the couch, and his eyes dart sideways.

“No offense, but I can’t see myself playing in a covers band called _Empty Closets_.”

“That was Dani’s suggestion. Elliott agrees we should go with _Pamela Lansbury_.”

That explains the rearranging somewhat, but not completely. “Why the sewing nook? With your band and classes and job, how will you even find the time to design stuff?”

“Because….” Kurt breathes out. His following squeak is so high-pitched that Finn swears some of the birds outside scatter at the noise. “I have a new job, and guess where I’m working? Vogue dot com!”

Even a guy like Finn’s heard of Vogue. “Dude, that rocks! I knew you’d be a model.”

“What?” Kurt shakes his head. “No. I’m an intern,” he explains. “A little bit of PR, a little bit of marketing, and a little bit of design.”

“Wow. That sounds like _more_ than a little bit of pay.”

“Actually, it’s an unpaid internship. But don’t worry! I still have my savings, and my college fund, and I’ll still be working at the diner. I wrote a blog article about color combining and their editor found it and contacted me. This could be my _Devil Wears Prada_ moment!”

“That chick was _far_ more like Rach,” Finn says.

“True, but that’s not what I meant,” Kurt says, darting into the kitchen area. He returns with a large green bottle, the label looking obnoxiously fancy with gold cursive writing. “Adam bought me some wine as a thank you when I suggested the Apples mash up “Sunglasses at Night” and “West End Girls” for their last recital. I’m going to let it breathe and we can have a glass during band practice this evening.”

“Adam’s over twenty one?” Finn says. He’s fairly sure Adam has more than a passing crush on Kurt, and while a glass of wine and biscotti is hardly a hot tub and wine coolers, Finn’s a guy himself and is fairly sure of Adam’s intent. 

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “If you must know, the drinking age in England is eighteen. Do you have any plans?”

“Cindy’s Halloween party. Told you last week, remember?”

Kurt shrugs, and unscrews the wine, taking an exaggeratedly deep sniff. “Let me guess, zombie quarterback again?”

“Unless I can make something from what’s in the apartment,” Finn says. The stores in Greenpoint have only just started to reopen following Sandy, even though the storm itself didn’t affect their part of the neighborhood. “I don’t want to be _that_ guy acting like he’s still his high school self, y’know?” 

“I’m sure we can rustle up something,” Kurt says. “How are you even getting to Cindy’s?”

“It’s a bit of a walk, but I’ll be fine. You’d never guess a freaking _hurricane_ just passed through.”

“Dani wasn’t so lucky,” Kurt mutters. “Her apartment block’s still without power so she’s staying at Adam’s. I think his steely British reserve is getting them through. That, and the local pizza place that’s somehow still open.”

Finn pauses. “So if Dani’s staying with Adam, why is only Adam coming to practice?” 

Kurt says nothing, and walks through to the kitchen area just in time for the oven to beep. He’s moving far too fluidly for a guy wearing painted-on pants made from what look like the fabric from their former couch. He wouldn’t put that kind of _upcycling_ past Kurt. 

“Does Blaine know about Adam, and wine, and biscotti?” Finn says. 

Kurt reemerges, without the apron. “He doesn’t need to.” 

“If Rachel did this with some hot guy _she_ had musical chemistry with, I’d be on the next flight to make sure that guy was history.” 

Kurt shakes his head, and puts his hands on his hips. “Yes, well. Rachel doesn’t accuse you of ignoring her texts. Rachel doesn’t send you Facebook messages asking you if her bow tie matches her underwear at five in the morning and then calls you asking if you’ve been kidnapped when you don’t respond. Rachel hasn’t made an effigy of you from felt and set up a Tumblr blog for the world to see it. Hashtag, psycho. Finn, the boy is insane!”

Finn throws his hands up. “So dump the guy! Ignoring him won’t make him go away.” 

Kurt walks back into the kitchen and his voice sounds out over the whir of the stick blender. “I just want to have a nice relaxed evening and share my confit duck with someone who’ll appreciate it. What’s so wrong about spending some time with a friend?” 

Only _Kurt_ would include a can of cooked duck in his list of supplies to weather a hurricane; Finn’s pretty sure a large part of Kurt would find being holed up with nothing but tealight candles and a fruit platter romantic. “A gay guy friend with an accent that makes your knees weak?” 

“I’m not the one lending out my class notes to that girl with big boobs in my Intro to Psych class!” Kurt calls out. “I wonder what Rachel would say about that?” 

Finn rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, Kurt. Why don’t you ask her?” 

\--

Finn’s suit doesn’t fit him properly; he’s lost weight from his cardio routine at the fitness center, but with it’s come some of the muscle it took him forever to build in high school. He kind of misses Sam Evans’ crazy protein plates. Kurt half-heartedly gives Finn a glue gun, a pile of plastic fruit and one of the plastic swords he uses to spar in his stagecraft class. The result is a passable fruit ninja costume, and only one third degree burn to his finger. 

It’s not the laziest effort. As he walks through Cindy’s hallway, Finn steps over a drunk guy claiming he’s a fork in the road, and four dudes covered in mylar parcel bows playing beer pong. 

_God’s Gift to Women_ , Finn assumes. He hopes those women keep the receipts. 

It’s perhaps after an hour of dancing and drinking punch that tastes like candy apples that Finn slumps down onto the couch, content just to watch people around him. Soon, he feels the couch dip and turns his head.

“Hey!” Finn exclaims, turning around so he can give the guy a high five. He loses a plastic apple in the process. “Awesome party, right?”

“Cute costume,” the guy says, and passes him a cup of punch.

Finn takes in the guy’s costume. He’s wearing tight white pants and a bright yellow jacket, his face covered in glitter and more eyeliner than Finn’s even seen Santana wear. “You too. Freddie Mercury, right?”

The guy nods. “The queen from Queen. Mind if I sit?” 

“Sure.” Finn’s making quick work of his drink. “I _need_ the recipe for this punch.” 

“Drinking for a good time, or drinking to forget?” eyeliner guy says. He smiles, showing bright white teeth. “The great thing about Halloween is you can be whoever you want to be.” 

“All about the good times, man,” Finn laughs. “Couple more of these and I’ll be owning that karaoke machine. Can you believe I haven’t sung since high school?” He pauses. “I didn’t just go around singing. I was in Glee club.” 

The guy leans in a little, finishing the last of his drink and setting it down on the side table. Maybe it’s the drink, or the conversation, but this guy has really nice eyes. They’re the same sort of blueish gray that Kurt’s are and the light’s hitting them really nicely. He leans in a little more closely, and Finn’s surprised his body doesn’t jerk back. “Don’t ever let life get in the way of performing,” he says. “Life should be _about_ performing. Are you seeing anyone?” 

Finn startles a little. This isn’t like Kurt whose sixteen year-old self would have wanted to walk hand-in-hand in a field of lilacs. This is the real deal. “Uh, yeah. Long-distance, all the way back in Ohio, so…” 

“Open relationship?” 

Finn chews at his lip. “No. My -- _she’s_ my fiancée, actually.” 

“Elliott?” A very British voice calls out. “What the hell! You drag me here to help me get over Kurt, and you end up throwing yourself at the first guy you see?” 

Finn jerks back and turns his head. He’s met Adam only a few times, but he’s unmistakable even in his Indiana Jones costume. The pieces quickly fit together that he’s just been hit on by Kurt’s bandmate, and Finn’s chest pounds with the realization that if Adam and Elliott are here there’s a very good chance Kurt might be, too. 

“He wasn’t the first guy I saw,” Elliott says, turning back to Finn with a pretty dazzling smile. “I _do_ have standards.” 

Adam blinks. “Wait, you were hitting on Finn?” He laughs, shaking his head. “Elliott, that’s Kurt’s _brother_.” 

Elliott looks into Finn’s eyes like he knows all his secrets. “Ooh, Kurt’s right. He _is_ a cutie.” He springs off the couch gracefully. “See you around, tall, dark and curious.” 

Finn slumps into the couch, trying to pretend he doesn't notice when Elliott runs a hand through his hair and blows the pair of them a kiss. He’s not anywhere near as freaked out as he probably should be, and he wonders what the outcome might have been if he hadn’t had a fiancée back in Ohio. 

“Well, _this_ has been some enchanted evening,” Adam says. His breath smells like beer, and he sounds even drunker than Rachel was at her high school trainwreck party.

Finn gestures the universal drink gesture to one of his college friends, who quickly gives him another cup of punch. “Did you see Kurt this evening?” Finn says. “He’s not here, is he?” 

Adam nods. “Yes, and no. I wasn’t stupid. I know he doesn’t see me as anything other than a distraction, but then he only seems to see his long-distance boyfriend like that too. We were halfway through our Hitchcock film when he looks at me and says he wants to _cuddle_ and then -- well, I thought…” 

“You thought wrong. Kurt would never cheat on Blaine.” 

“I’d never be an accessory _to_ cheating!” Adam says, with such anger in his eyes that Finn’s inclined to believe him. “Your sweet little _brother_ just rolled his eyes and told me cuddling wasn’t cheating. Apparently you two cuddle all the time. I didn’t want to put myself in that position, so I left.” 

Finn nods. “That was big of you. Kurt and Blaine are endgame, and you don’t wanna get between that.” 

Adam laughs. “I really _do_ want to get between that. I don’t understand why someone as special as your brother is still with Blaine when he never even talks about the guy. The only guy he really talks about is _you_. Did you two ever…?” 

“Ever _what_?” 

“Erm, well…” Adam scratches at the outer seam of his pants leg. “Did you think about something more? The way he talks about you sometimes…” 

Finn takes a deep breath. “Don’t be stupid. I’m engaged, and Kurt thinks I’m straight.”

“What do you mean, _thinks_?” Adam says. 

It’s not just the five cups of punch that are making Finn’s head spin unpleasantly. “I don’t freaking know!” he says, unable to stop himself. “In high school I was the quarterback, and the captain of Glee, and now I don’t know what I am. Back home, I was surrounded by people who used to tell me who I was, but here in New York…” Finn sighs. “I always had this feeling that I didn’t just like girls, but I saw what Kurt went through. I was so scared what people would say about me that it wasn’t even an option.” 

“Small town mentality,” Adam says. “I only came out in my junior year of college, and that was in a _theater_ school. Did you ever like any guys in particular?” 

“I didn’t even think about it,” Finn says. “I was the quarterback. Girls gave me so much attention that I was kinda preoccupied. I wasn’t like Kurt. I didn't flash my heart eyes at anyone who even gave me the time of day.” 

Adam looks at Finn intensely, his palm cupping his chin. “Kurt had a crush on you, didn’t he?” 

Finn takes a large sip of punch. “Everyone said he was crazy about me, but I think he only liked me because I held his jacket when the other guys on the football team tossed him into dumpsters and I didn’t outright call him names. That guy went through so much shit for being himself, and… some of that shit was caused by _me_.” 

“It’s good he didn’t let it change him,” Adam says. 

“Kurt’s _always_ himself. He’ll never change who he is for anyone, and it’s the best thing about him. I kinda think Blaine sees it as more of a weakness. Soulmates don’t try to change each other, you know?” 

Adam laughs. “Yeah, maybe they’re not soulmates. How are you finding long-distance?” 

Finn snorts. “Well, Rachel doesn’t record YouTube videos of felt puppets singing me _P!nk_ songs, so I got that on my side, but… I’m starting to think the distance is the only reason we’re working out.” 

“College is about exploring all the options,” Adam says. “You’re, what, nineteen? Best time in your life to start taking off the labels everyone put on you in high school and look at what’s actually underneath.” 

Finn watches Adam excuse himself to get them what he says will be too-weak, too-cold beer. Finn’s apparently an evasive guy drunk. He doesn’t want to go through the true story of his history with Kurt, so he instead ends up telling Adam the whole story of him and Rachel including the time she tried to sleep with Puck, and her restraining order. He tells Adam that he texts her every morning and night, but he doesn’t think about her during the day at all. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Finn says, showing Adam the picture Rachel sent of her dressed up as the girl from _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_. “She’s smart, and ambitious, and so so talented, but I don’t think she’s my soulmate, either. I don’t think it’s _her_ that I’m missing.”

Adam smiles. “Don’t use her as an excuse to stop yourself going after what you want. If you want to talk, give me a call,” he says, bumping his bottle of beer against Finn’s. “I’m going to catch up with Elliott.” 

“Sure.” Finn’s pretty certain he needs to head home. “Can you… please not mention this to Kurt? He’s got enough on his plate right now.” 

“I think you should tell him,” Adam says. 

Finn nods, but doesn’t ask Adam precisely what he’s alluding to. He’s pretty sure he needs to take off that _straight_ label as much as he’s taken off the _quarterback_ one. Everyone says Finn’s changed since he moved to New York, but deep down, he wonders if he’s just becoming the guy he was meant to be all along. 

If Finn were still in high school and he’d spoken about maybe liking guys, he’d have a three-letter word rhyming with _bag_ spray painted on his locker or truck by the following morning. He scarfs down two burritos and a can of sugary energy drink, a little surprised to find nothing’s changed at all. Classes are still canceled due to Sandy, so Finn works on his group presentation from home. He goes on a jog that evening, enjoying the sweater weather. When he reaches the apartment, the lights are all off. Kurt’s classes have also been canceled and he’s probably either at the diner or at the Vogue offices, but that's not unusual. 

“Blaine, I’ll call you right back!” Kurt says, walking through to greet Finn. He’s holding his iPad and hits the button to end the call. 

Their new flat screen TV -- apparently a freebie from Kurt’s boss at Vogue -- is hooked up to Kurt’s laptop and paused on what Finn wishes he didn’t know was the show where the cheerleader from _Heroes_ is a country music star. There’s a bowl of popcorn and a bag of candy on the coffee table, and a large glass of what might either be Diet Coke or red wine. Kurt’s dressed for comfort, wearing cut-off sweatpants and a headband that looks suspiciously like one of Rachel’s which pulls his hair flat against his forehead.

“What’s up?” Finn says.

Kurt shrugs. “Long-distance date night.” He walks over to the coffee table and reaches into the bowl of popcorn. He tosses a few kernels into his mouth, crunching them almost exaggeratedly. “I really can’t face Blaine’s judgement tonight.” 

“Yeah?”

“I…” Kurt hiccups, and Finn notices just how puffy his eyes are. “Last night, I messed up with Adam. He told me he wanted to be more than friends, and… he was so sweet, and earnest, and that _accent_. I said we should cuddle, as friends, and he told me that we should forget the movie we were watching and… make a romance movie of our own.” 

“You didn’t," Finn says, although he knows the story already. 

“I’ve only ever been with Blaine,” Kurt says, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Do I really want Blaine to be it for me until he dies, and I’m stuck in a nursing home being hit on by some eighty year-old who plays shuffleboard and likes younger men?” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“I wanted to know what it was like to be wanted,” Kurt says, and shakes his head. “Now I know it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I took two Ambien last night, and all I have to show for it is three hours’ sleep and a cut-price Bodum Chambord coffee maker from Amazon Prime. I… I have needs. And not just for sugary candy that’ll make me so pear-hipped no boy will look twice at me.” 

Finn doesn’t know what he can say to that. He’s got needs, too; that’s probably why Rachel’s still in the picture. That’s not something a guy like him can even discuss with Puck, let alone his gay brother. Finn can’t even look at Internet porn without being embarrassed, and deletes the wilder stuff Puck sends him without even looking. It’s not something he wants to press. 

“Is that wine you’re drinking?” Finn asks. 

“Diet coke,” Kurt says. “Caffeine-free. I still have some wine from last night. Want some?” 

“I gotta prepare for a group presentation at school, and this interview for a job at the Jewish high school. They’re looking for someone to help coach the basketball team. I’m supposed to be Jewish, but…” he looks down at his lap. “How would they know, right?” 

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Did Rachel’s fathers put you up to that? You should just work with me at the diner. Seems like you need a bit of fun in your life. Why don’t you get yourself a snack and we’ll go over some practice questions.” 

“Awesome.” Finn smirks. “Blaine will be cool with this, right?”

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Kurt says, a little uneasily. 

\--

Blaine doesn’t understand, at least if the shouting coming from Kurt’s bedroom is any indication. Finn isn’t often in Blaine’s corner, but he has to admit that Blaine has a point. Someone’s partner _should_ take priority over their roommate. After hanging up, Kurt looks so angry that Finn decides to put on the weird BBC America show Kurt’s obsessed with where European guys are far too serious about making fancy cakes. It’s innocuous background noise, at the very least. 

Finn just wants to help Kurt feel better, which is why he says what he does. “I was tempted, too. At the Halloween party. Someone hit on me, and I very nearly let it happen.” 

Kurt’s eyelid twitches, and the backs of his hands seem much more interesting than some British hipster trying to make the perfect pound cake. “Mm hm?” he says, and turns to Finn. “Was she cute?” 

“Uh…” Finn looks towards Kurt, not quite sure he can tell him just yet. “Yeah.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kurt says, then slumps down into the couch. “Weirdly enough, it does. Things have been a little rocky, but living with you hasn’t been anywhere near as exhausting as I thought it would be.” 

“Yeah, it’s been cool,” Finn says, choosing to ignore the veiled insult for now. 

“Since our summer escapades to every single museum in the city with central air, I don’t think we’ve had much time together. We need to make more of an effort to find _our_ New York. Find our spot. The sort of diner that knows I like extra cinnamon sugar on my waffles, and that you can’t stand cucumbers. I haven’t even tried a Bahn Mi sandwich yet,” Kurt admits. “Are you free this weekend?” 

Finn nods. 

“There’s a cute little bakery in Williamsburg that’s holding a macaron-making workshop. I was considering getting Blaine to be there too via the magic of Skype, but he’s busy working on blocking with Rachel for the senior class musical. Honestly, _Fiddler on the Roof_ is such an uninspired choice.” 

“I thought they were doing _Jewtopia_? 

“Too polemic, apparently.” Kurt cuffs Finn lightly on the shoulder. “She’s been talking my ear off for the past month. How could you not know?” 

“Probably ‘cause she talked your ear off so much she talked herself hoarse,” Finn says, thinking it’s not really too much of a loss discussing the ins and outs of what Rachel insists is the finest musical of all time. “Cool, let’s do something, then.” 

“Explore Ditmas Park?” Kurt says. “Ooh, or we could walk down Beverly Road and take pictures of the painted houses!” 

“Go to the coffee shop that bans laptops on the weekends?” Finn says. “Slow down before you get too crazy.” 

“What do you suggest? A Fire Island party?”

“Last week, Cindy did this food challenge where she ate a fish tank full of nachos -- which we’re _so_ doing for my birthday -- and she won a pair of Nets tickets. Her new boyfriend hates sports, and she kinda owes me one for doing all the work on this stupid group presentation. What’s more New York than a Nets game?” 

“A _Knicks_ game?” 

Finn grudgingly gives Kurt respect for that one. He guesses you don’t grow up as Burt Hummel’s son without some knowledge of team sports. “So, whaddaya say?” 

“I don’t really think I’d enjoy drinking flat soda and watching guys bouncing balls around.” 

Finn laughs. “Really? You don’t want to watch guys playing with their balls?” 

Kurt grins. He runs his finger around the edge of his glass, staring at Finn with cheeks that are just the tiniest bit flushed. “Not much more than you do, it seems,” he says, and smiles in the way that reminds Finn of a shark. “It’s a basketball date if, and only _if_ you’ll come to the opening of a play with me.” 

“Can I choose the play?”

“Nope!” Kurt sing-songs. “The director is best friends with my boss so it’s at least free.” 

Finn leans in to shake Kurt’s hand. “You’re on. You’re such a cheap date, Kurt Hummel.” 

Kurt bumps his shoulder against Finn’s, and stuffs a handful of candy into his mouth. “Makes a change from your previous girlfriends,” he says, looking far more relaxed than he had earlier on in their conversation. 

It’s clear to Finn that Kurt wasn’t serious when he called the Nets game a date, but it compares pretty favorably to the ones Finn _has_ had. It’s a good way to celebrate the fact he got the coaching gig, mostly by giving a firm handshake and saying he’d work for very little pay. It’s still more than he was paid by Sheets-N-Things. He might even be able to hook his MetroCard up to his bank account at last. 

Barclays Center only recently opened, and the game is packed. Finn loves both the atmosphere and the overpriced gourmet hot dogs they serve in the arena. What surprises him is that Kurt seems to love it, too. He’s cheering loudly, and stands up to whoop when they announce Beyoncé and Jay-Z are in the audience. When the final whistle blows, Kurt actually turns around and gives Finn a high five. 

“That was so much fun!” Kurt says the moment they’re free from enough crowds to have an audible conversation. “Maybe I should have cared more about team sports in high school?”

“Kurt Hummel: team player?” Finn snorts. “Yeah, right.” 

“It might have been fun,” Kurt says. “Winning friends. Influencing people.”

“You really are weird,” Finn says. He speeds up his pace, the weather having taken a cold enough turn for him to regret he’s not wearing gloves. “You kicked up such a stink about going, and I’m fairly sure you enjoyed it more than me!”

“The spirit. The atmosphere!” Kurt does a weird sort of twirl and gives Finn a genuine smile. “Beyoncé was there! And they had a same-sex couple on the kiss cam, and the crowd _cheered_. Could you imagine that happening at a football game in Lima? I couldn’t even imagine that happening in Ohio.”

“Me neither,” Finn says.

Kurt makes a quiet _hm_. The walk back is long, and mostly silent. The crowds soon thin out, and they stop off at Tony’s to grab two pizzas. When they finally reach the apartment, Finn doesn’t even take off his shoes before he tears open his pizza. He’s been wanting to try a Grandma Pie for weeks. 

“Slow down, Cowboy!” Kurt says, passing Finn a plate. He eats his own pizza by folding the slice in half and eating it from the edge inwards. “You know, say what you like about sports. At least they’re a socially acceptable way for guys to hug without worrying they’ll catch the gay.” 

“I don’t worry about that. Hugs are awesome!” 

Kurt giggles. “Puck’s right. You really _are_ the gayest straight boy ever.” 

Finn’s pizza is delicious as ever, but he has to make an extra effort to swallow it. The dough feels like lead in his stomach. “Yeah, that’s me,” he says, a little more loudly than he’d intended. “Straight.” 

“What brought _that_ on?”

“Nothing!” Finn takes another bite of his pizza. “Nothing brought that on, and --” Finn decides Kurt’s maybe the only person who knows him that could help him through this. “Okay, _fine_. Remember Cindy’s Halloween party? The person I was tempted by… wasn’t a girl. It was a guy with really nice arms, and a real nice smile, and I can’t stop thinking what it means about _me_.” 

“That’s new,” Kurt says. 

“Not as new as you’d think,” Finn mutters. “It’s gotta mean _something_ , right?” 

Kurt’s cheeks are visibly pink, even in the low light of their apartment. “It can’t mean anything,” he says, his voice as firm as his expression, his lips thinly pressed together and arms folded in front of his chest. He reaches for his glass of water and takes a long glug before he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“Huh?” Finn squints; he wasn’t expecting Kurt to belch rainbows and throw some sort of parade but he wasn’t expecting this, either. “Why can’t it mean anything? My feelings are kinda mine, y’know?” 

“Let me put it _straight_ ,” Kurt says. 

“That’s not funny!” 

“You’re straighter than a post.” Kurt stands up, and casts Finn a withering glare. “If you really were gay, you’d know it. You’d have to stop badly dancing through life and face up to the fact that being different can be the hardest thing in the world. You’re engaged to _Rachel_. Stop looking for drama when there’s none there.”

“I’m not gay!” Finn says, tugging a hand through his hair. “I’m just kinda… confused, and I thought --” 

“You’ve been confused your whole life. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite. Goodnight, Finn.” 

Finn opens his mouth like a dumb, confused fish. He wants to say _something_ , but the words just catch in the back of his throat. Kurt leaves his pizza all but untouched, storms over to his bedroom and slams the door behind him. The fact that Finn’s not even allowed to question himself makes him feel far more different than Kurt even realizes. 

Kurt’s always dealt in absolutes; he makes choices quickly, and sticks to them. Finn’s not like that, always thinking about how the world _could_ be if he chose differently. He supposes that Kurt made his choice that Finn was straight back in junior year, and nothing now could convince him otherwise. 

\--

It’s sometime in the early hours of the morning when Finn comes to, feeling a gentle hand shake his shoulder. “Finn?” Kurt says quietly. “Are you awake? 

“I am now,” Finn says. Kurt’s crouching down in front of him, the street lights from outside casting a blue glow across Kurt’s face. He must have fallen asleep on the couch, as he’s half-covered by the blanket like some sort of human burrito. “What’s wrong? Is everything cool with Blaine?” 

“Fuck Blaine,” Kurt says. “I freaked out last night, Finn. Deep down, I never thought you’d question that part of yourself no matter how many times I played out the alternatives in my head. It took me by surprise, that’s all.” 

“It took me by surprise a lot more,” Finn says, laughing darkly. 

“So, you’re…” Kurt stutters over the word. “Pansexual?” 

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m bi. I don’t want to have sex with elves or pans or anything.” 

Kurt places his fist in front of his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh. “Good. You ruin enough of my saucepans to make that a bad idea. Do you know what pansexual means?” 

“Yeah. Like Brittany. You just like people, right?” 

“Absolutely. Brittany likes the _person_. She doesn’t even think about their guy parts, or girl parts. Does that… maybe make some sense to you?” 

Finn scratches the back of his neck. “Kinda, but I definitely knew he was a guy, and, uh… I found him pretty hot, okay? I started looking around some of the guys in my classes and found some of them hot, too. Maybe if you reacted differently when Blaine thought _he_ was bi, I might have known sooner.” 

Kurt sighs. “I didn’t hate him for saying he thought he was bi. It was more the fear that _another_ boy I was in love with would pick Rachel over me.” 

Finn readjusts so he’s sat up and pats the couch next to him, inviting Kurt to take a seat. He looks at Kurt, who’s sure he’s a hundred percent gay and has known ever since he was three years old and asked his father for a pair of glittery heels. Kurt hosted tea parties, and made daisy chains for his stuffed animals while Finn and Puck were wrestling around in the mud. Deep down, Finn’s pretty sure that his willingness to roughhouse with Puck well into his teenage years was probably a pretty big clue to his not-straightness. 

“Please tell me you don’t have some unrequited love for Puck,” Kurt says, doing his freaky mind reading thing again. He stands up and sits next to Finn, his eyes actually twinkling a little. “Wouldn’t that be the biggest cliché in the book, ending up with the guy who’s been with every girl you’ve dated?” 

Finn laughs. “God, no. He’s definitely hot, but he really _is_ like a brother to me.” 

Kurt curls up in on himself a little. “Could you imagine yourself with a boy?” 

Finn shakes his head. “Nah, but I’m with Rachel. She’s it for me, so I can’t imagine myself with another girl, either,” he says, deciding he’ll just gather up the blanket and go to bed. “Like you said last night, no point looking for drama, right? Maybe I _am_ just confused.” 

“Do you have David’s number?” Kurt says. 

“Karofsky?” Finn says, knowing he must look a little horrified as Kurt cocks his head to one side. “It’s cool.” He looks at Kurt, his hands tingling like there’s a splinter just on the cusp of working its way out. “I’m with Rachel. It’s Rachel who’s the love of my life.” 

Kurt laughs at him. “Did I miss my shot? Maybe it’s the hair. It’s getting so tall I look like a giraffe could graze on me.”

Finn doesn’t quite know what to say. “We should try to see another game. That was fun!” 

“It was,” Kurt said. “I did enjoy being a kicker. You know, that was the first time we…” 

“Yeah.” Finn nods. “Years later and I still think a t-zone is what’s between your legs.” 

“Good job I didn’t give you a hands-on lesson in moisturizing,” Kurt says, and then stands up with a yawn. Even in the dim room, Finn can see the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m sorry. I drew a line years ago with us, and this… might not help me stay on the right side of it.” 

“For the last freaking time, Kurt, I’m sorry about your lamp!” Finn says, he looks across to Kurt, but doesn’t see any anger on his face. 

Instead, he just sees a great deal of concern. Kurt’s temperamental without a doubt, and runs his mouth off any time there’s a y in the day of the week, but he always tries his hardest to be in Finn’s corner. He’s not Finn’s _best_ friend -- nobody could fill Puck’s boots -- but Finn knows he couldn’t have had such a good four months in a new city with anyone else. Puck always did joke about how Kurt and Finn were an old married couple, and for the first time Finn wishes he’d asked Puck _why_ rather than shoved him and called him a jackass. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kurt says. “I really should call Blaine. He’s so anxious about opening night that he’s barely sleeping better than I am. I still haven’t adjusted to sleeping on my own after all the time we spent together over the summer. I even bought one of those boyfriend pillows, for all my shame.” 

Finn exhales. He’s seen that weird pillow of Kurt’s, but he didn’t want to bring it up. “You could cuddle up with me, if you wanted. Y’know, like we did after all that shit happened at junior prom?” 

“I felt guilty enough about what happened with Adam,” Kurt says quietly. “I don’t quite know how Blaine would react if he found out I was sharing a bed with _you_. Goodnight, Finn.” 

\--

That night, Finn goes to bed alone. It’s beyond lame, but he hugs his bounciest pillow against his chest. Kurt drew a line -- they’re _brothers_ , and it’s all they can ever be. It’s probably for the best that Finn didn’t realize he liked boys in high school; he’d definitely have chosen Rachel over Kurt because he was a complete coward, and he’d have ended up hurting Kurt even more. Would they have been brothers if they’d both grown up in Brooklyn, or would they have been something else?

 _It doesn’t matter. You’re with Rachel_ , Finn tells himself, turning onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He’s been staring at it so much lately he needs a mural or something on there. _Rachel, Rachel, Rachel._

As the week continues, Finn keeps telling himself to think of Rachel but it doesn’t take much for his mind to go elsewhere. Kurt’s drawn the line, and it’s Finn’s job to make sure he stays on the right side of the line. Between sitting on opposite ends of the couch trying to make himself seem as small as possible to bolting to his bedroom area when Kurt exits the bathroom without wearing his customary layers, Kurt must know something’s up. 

Kurt doesn’t say anything, though. He takes on even more shifts at the diner and fields telephone calls for his boss at Vogue dot com until midnight. 

That Thursday, Finn arrives home from his late class to find Kurt on the couch, just about to start that week’s episode of _Elementary_. It’s one of the few shows they can agree on, and saves them suffering through those awful reality shows where competitive eaters try to consume more hot dogs than Kodiak bears.

“Opening night of the senior class musical tonight,” Finn says. He looks at Kurt who’s almost sat in thinker pose, his hands folded under his chin. “Think we should make a Skype call and check in?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know if Blaine would appreciate that.”

“Are you crazy? He’d love to hear from you.”

Kurt shrugs, and so Finn goes into the kitchen for a can of pop, and takes out another one for Kurt. Kurt doesn’t even thank him before he opens it, his face fixed in a grimace. While Kurt constantly professes he’s an _honorary girl_ , he’s more emotionally-guarded than pretty much any other person Finn knows. In contrast to Kurt’s usual quips about Joan Watson dressing a little bit too much like the _new_ Rachel Berry, he remains silent until the second commercial break. 

“Did you get tickets to see the play?” Finn asks.

“What?” Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. I have _far_ too much on to drop everything and fly back to Lima. I don’t even know how I’ll find the time to start my extra voice lessons next week.”

“I wasn’t talking about _Fiddler on the Roof_ ,” Finn says. “I was talking about the play _we_ were going to see together. Rach didn’t even ask me to fly back home for her directorial debut.” 

“Blaine did,” Kurt says. He hits the mute button on the remote. “I understand this is important for him, but a role in a high school musical isn’t _that_ much of a deal. Not when I know people who’ve been on Broadway since they were five.” 

“Did you send him anything?” Finn says. “I sent her flowers and vegan candies. My kids have a big game tomorrow night, but I’d still have flown out if she really wanted me to. I think she’d just see me as a distraction, though.” 

“How can you be a distraction when you don’t even talk to her?”

“No need to see a play with you,” Finn says. “You’re creating enough drama on your own.” 

Kurt switches off the television and shoots Finn a glare. “The play is this weekend. Now you’ve saddled me with guilt, I’m going to check in with Blaine. Can you make a start on the casserole?” 

“Brown the beef first, I know,” Finn mutters. “Whatever. It all tastes the same when it’s done. Give Blaine my best,” he says, with so little emotion that Kurt can’t possibly think he means it with any sincerity. 

\--

That Friday night, Finn watches his kids lose their home game by a large enough margin that he’s given stern words by the head coach. His motivational speeches clearly aren't enough, especially given he knows what it’s like to be fifteen and more focused on the head cheerleader’s boobs than the team’s playbooks. He e-mails Coach Beiste for some advice, then ends up going to the library for most of Saturday before he throws on some dress pants and a tie to see the play. 

“What’s it even about?” Finn asks Kurt, who seems to have one eye trained on his colleague Chase. 

“It’s called _Marry Me A Little_ ,” Kurt says. “It’s a medley of Sondheim that explores the facets of modern romance.” 

Finn is looking forward to it even less. “I like your cufflinks, Kurt,” he says, gesturing to the small plastic dinosaurs that fasten his shirt sleeves. “You have no right to tell _me_ I dress like a kid, though.” 

Kurt grins. “Whimsical chic is going to be _de rigeur_ for Spring/Summer 2013.” He clearly knows Finn has no idea what he’s talking about as he gets out his compact and adjusts his bangs. “Sometimes dressing like an adult is boring. How did your presentation go?” 

“Not great,” Finn admits. “Between that and my kids playing like crap, I’m thinking teaching maybe isn’t the right thing for me. Good job. I think I’ve seen enough naked dudes singing soft rock to last me ‘til I’m seventy.” 

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Shall we work the room?” 

Finn really doesn’t feel the need to. He wonders if he should maybe hold Kurt’s arm like the guys in the Sinatra movies Kurt loves so much do, but Kurt strides through the foyer at such a pace that Finn’s struggling to keep up. People are carrying around large silver trays with tiny pastries on which Kurt tells Finn aren’t actually meant to be eaten. 

“Can we have Italian afterwards?” Finn says. “I haven’t actually had one since Breadstix. God, I miss that place, even if the cheese came out of a tube.” 

“I miss it too. I barely ever went with Blaine; he always wanted to go to Cardone’s over in Westerville. He said it was _classier_.” 

“Wasn’t that the place that served veal? I think Rachel wrote into The Lima Herald about it.” 

Kurt shrugs. “I’m looking forward to a veal Milanese tonight. Best get our fill of baby cow because the moment she visits, she’s going to drag us all to Caravan of Dreams for spelt pancakes and raw cashew milk.”

“Cashews are already gross. Why would you milk them?”

“Because, Finn, a kind heart is a kind mind!” Kurt says, in an uncanny impression of Rachel.

“Better not let her see that fox tail you’re wearing,” Finn says, as a bell sounds out.

“It’s faux. Come on, let’s take our seats. The play’s about to start.”

\--

It’s very rare that Kurt’s misinformed, but the play turns out to be a musical. Clearly Finn can’t escape Glee whatever he decides to do -- or not do -- with his life. Kurt excitedly whispers to him the underlying themes of the Sondheim songs in the same type of voice Finn would use to explain his feelings about a particularly delicious cheeseburger. Finn’s not following it too well, but gets it’s about two lonely people who live in adjacent apartments. They sing to each other through the wall about their wants and wishes and dreams. It’s love song after love song with no actual love. By the time the chick’s wailing her way through “It Wasn’t Meant to Happen”, Finn wants to slam their heads together.

“What did you think?” Kurt asks, wiping at his eye. He’s actually been _crying_.

“It kinda sucked,” Finn says as they file back into the foyer, making an exaggerated yawn. 

“Well, it’s hardly _Rock of Ages_ , but even if the songs aren’t to your liking, you have to admit it was a beautiful and subtle performance.”

“That’s not why it sucked,” Finn says. “It was kinda… unrealistic, okay? He was so lonely, and she was singing about how lonely she was, too. Why the hell would you put up with that when there’s someone who wants you right on the other side of the freaking wall?”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Kurt says. “You’re not talking about Jackie from 3B, are you?”

“Ew. She’s like, thirty.”

“So who _are_ you talking about?” Kurt says. “Elliott? I’m pretty sure he’d go for it whether you were single, married, or seeing fifty other people.”

“There might be someone I like, okay?” Finn says, hoping in the back of his mind that Kurt might perhaps read between the lines of what he’s saying. Between Kurt’s invisible line and Finn’s grudging acceptance of it, they’re even more stubborn than the guys in the play. 

“Ooh, is it Chase’s friend?” Kurt smiles. “He’s just been signed by Wilhelmina.”

Kurt’s picking out _guys_ for him now? “I guess he’s alright, but… this play’s got me thinking what life would be like if _Rach_ was on the other side of my wall,” Finn says, thinking of the fights over the IKEA chairs and ethical linens they had in their senior year. “Sometimes I think I’d be just as lonely as I am now.” 

Kurt smiles at Finn, genuine. “Life’s always a lot less lonely when you’re in the apartment. Do you mind if I say goodbye to my boss and call it a night? Dani just texted me to say she’s got the ‘flu, and craving some chicken soup. I’m sure you’ve got work to do as well.” 

“On a Saturday night?” Finn says. “Actually, yeah. I have another group assignment. For some reason, the girls think I’m gonna do the work for them ‘cause we pulled an A on the last one.” 

“You pulled an A,” Kurt says. “How did you manage to hide those smarts through high school?” 

Finn snorts. “I’d say it’s ‘cause it takes smarts to hide the fact you have ‘em, but it’s more that the faculty at CCNY can actually _teach_.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kurt says. “Can we raincheck on the Italian?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Finn says. Secretly, he’s more than a little relieved they didn’t get Italian together. Between the formal wear and the bottle of wine Kurt probably would have insisted on by way of his fake ID, that would have felt a little _too_ much like a date. “Later, Kurt!” 

\--

Monday morning brings early classes. Finn pads through to the bathroom and looks out of the window in the living area to see the normally brown and gray scenery of their street is blanketed in white. Immediately, he turns on the news which informs him a massive nor’easter has brought disruption to the state. On checking his e-mails, all his classes have been canceled. It’s his first ever New York snow, and pretty much the best thing ever. 

“Snowball fights!” Finn says to a very sleepy Kurt who’s making what smells like a very strong flask of coffee. “C’mon, let’s bundle up and go to Central Park. I’ll get you some chestnuts!” 

“Can’t,” Kurt informs him. “Important photo shoot at Vogue dot com. I’ve had so little sleep I’d probably mistake the snow for my comfortable, comfortable bed.” 

Finn travels in with Kurt anyway, making plans to meet up in Bryant Park with his college friends. After so long living here, the route to Manhattan is as familiar as driving to Pat’s for a 2am donut run back in Lima. 

As Finn walks out of the subway, he gawps at the Condé Nast building. The sun’s low in the sky and reflects against the the glass of the skyscraper, making it almost disappear into the horizon. He’ll always be a small town boy, and he guesses he’ll never lose his sense of wonder at the city. 

“Long day at the office?” Finn asks Kurt, although he already knows the answer. 

“‘I’ll be on my hands and knees in the vault,” Kurt says, taking a sip from the flask of coffee he holds in his gloved hands. “Ran Danker needs a chapeau bras that matches his gilet.” 

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds tough,” Finn says. 

“It’s not such a hardship. Ran is _oh so easy_ on the eye.” 

“Have a good day, Kurt! I’ll throw extra snowballs for you.” 

Kurt looks a little regretful. He reaches up to adjust the scarf over his mouth so Finn can see his smile more clearly. It’s enough to warm his heart. “Have fun. Are you feeling enterprising? I think this weather calls for tartiflette.”

“I’ll Google it,” Finn says, assuming it’s some sort of pie. “Enjoy the vault!” 

Kurt turns his back and walks the short distance to the entrance of the building. Finn decides to just watch him, and smiles when Kurt turns his head and offers him a wave, like he knew Finn would be standing there all along. He’s wearing darker colors than normal, and the late fall chill has made his pink cheeks and pink lips stand out against his pale skin. It’s like he’s the first piece of the puzzle, or the sun all the other planets orbit around; Finn feels that familiar drop in his stomach he so desperately wanted to have for Rachel back when she visited for Labor Day weekend. 

Finn’s screwed. Even if New York is the kind of city where anything goes, being in love with your stepbrother is hardly socially acceptable. It’s even less acceptable when said stepbrother has drawn a line in the sand that he won’t let Finn scrub out. 

Finn throws himself into coaching theory and his college work to try and keep his mind off things. By Thanksgiving week, it’s so warm he doesn’t even need to wear a sweater. He’s spent the day trying to find a gift for Rachel, mostly due to crushing guilt that he needs to work twice as hard to prove he loves her. He goes to a small store on Wythe Avenue his friend Jenn recommends and buys Rachel a handmade rose gold pendant that the sales lady says matches her new hair. When he gets home, he opens the door of the apartment and freezes in his tracks. 

_“So maybe I wish he had stayed in Lima. At least then I’d still have the man I loved. Would that really be so wrong?”_

It’s Rachel, and she’s talking to Kurt. Well, more specially, talking _at_ Kurt.

_“Sometimes I think he should have joined the Army. At least if he were in Iraq or Afghanistan he’d have a reason for why he’s so distant. He didn’t even ask me how my opening night was! I didn’t even receive a bouquet.”_

“Rachel, Finn’s been going through an incredibly difficult time,” Kurt says, with patience. “The weather here’s been frightful; your flowers probably just got delayed.” 

_”I don’t think it’s working out. It feels like nothing in my life is working out this year. Your brother was supposed to be the one thing I could count on.”_

“If you don’t think you can count on him, you really shouldn’t be engaged to him.” 

_“Why do you sound so angry, Kurt? It’s almost as though you don’t want me to be dating your brother. Are you jealous that Blaine’s playing my love interest again? He told me you’re being distant, too, and --”_

“Blaine needs to do something other than pine away and send me stuffed animals named after female divas,” Kurt snaps, then turns towards the door. “Oh, hello, _Finn_. Were you planning on joining in the conversation, or thinking I wouldn’t notice your flagrant eavesdropping?” 

“I only just got home!” Finn calls out, throwing his voice. “Rach, hey! Did you get the stuff I sent?” 

Kurt goes to his bedroom, and leaves Finn to talk to her. He tells Rachel that he’s safe and well, and that trying to get the kids he coaches to up their game is taking up a lot of his time. He tells her he loves her, and blows her a quick kiss goodbye. 

“You two are about as romantic as my budget spreadsheet,” Kurt says, glaring at Finn. “Have you two crazy kids tried to sort out anything?” 

Finn has that same sinking feeling he did with Quinn in his junior year when everything pointed to a break-up and Quinn was the only one who couldn’t see it coming. “Sorted out what?” he says, but he knows exactly what Kurt means. 

Rachel’s adding nothing to his life. She’s not even taking up any _space_ in his life, and as much as she tends to straddle the wrong side of the crazy-sane line, hurting her is the absolute last thing he ever wants to do. 

“Kurt? What should I do?” Finn asks. “She’s always so angry with me.” 

“I don’t blame her!” Kurt says, waving his finger in Finn’s direction. “She wants to be loved by a man. Not a cowardly boy who’s scared to go after what he really wants.” 

“Scared?” Finn yells. “Of _course_ I’m scared!” 

Kurt’s nose twitches, and he places his hands on his hips. Finn knows him well enough by now to know that his anger will bubble over. “You don’t know who you are, or what you want, and you’re too scared about what other people might think of you to even try!” 

“I’m not taking that shit from you,” Finn says. “I _do_ know what I want.” 

“Really?” Kurt says. “You keep saying you’re in love with her, but I’m starting to wonder if you even _like_ her.”

Finn turns away from Kurt. He can’t deal with that haughty, _I’m-so-right_ look of judgement right now. He’s got half a mind to tell Kurt that Rachel spends most of her time with Finn criticizing him about how his own actions (or inaction) reflect on _her_. It doesn’t exactly feel like he’s being loved by a woman, either. 

“This wasn’t how freshman year of college was supposed to be,” Kurt said. He’s wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, but on him it still manages to look like battle armor. 

“How was it supposed to be?” Finn asks, knowing that Kurt’s own long-distance relationship is not to the letter of how Kurt had planned things either. There’s something a little disconcerting to Finn about how Kurt’s always trying to change Blaine’s behavior while telling _Finn_ the most important thing in life is to be himself. 

“She was supposed to hand over the reins of Glee to that sweet lunch lady’s daughter, wear a hideous pink frilly dress, get herself on the first plane that would take her, and drag you to the nearest chapel,” Kurt huffs. “If she wastes the best years of her life on community theater and high school glee clubs, she’ll end up waiting tables in Johnny Rockets like Jesse St. James.” 

Finn snorts. “Jesse St. Karma. I wish she’d start telling me what she wanted me to do rather than just telling me I’m doing everything wrong, y’know?” 

“I know my best friend. It’s her way of hiding the fact she doesn’t think she’s good enough for _you_.” 

“That’s crazy!” Finn says. “She’s more than good enough. I just don’t think she’s… right enough. Do you think I should break up with her?” 

Kurt sighs. “I’m not the person to answer that question. I’m trying to work out whether Blaine’s ever going to be who I need him to be, too. I think that’s why I’ve kept myself so busy; it’s the perfect way to distract myself from what I really want. Maybe it’ll be different once he’s here?” 

“Maybe it’ll be even worse,” Finn says. 

Kurt grimaces. “This week is just biting my butt. Can you just… hold me?” he says, so quietly Finn can barely hear. 

It’s been far too long since Kurt’s requested that, and despite the fact his mind is telling him it’s a bad idea, Finn nods. They sit down on the couch, Finn with his back against the armrest and Kurt between his stretched-out legs, his back flush against Finn’s chest. Finn curls his arm around Kurt’s shoulders, and they just sit there in silence. Despite the change in Finn’s feelings, it’s still as comfortable as their trips to the mall in the summer of their junior year when they had nothing in common but parents who decided to marry. When Finn adjusts a little, his hand lightly brushes Kurt’s thigh in a way that’s decidedly _not_ brotherly and Kurt squeaks, his body pulling away. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Finn says. “You gotta believe me, I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Kurt’s breathing is a little quicker. He tugs the sleeves of his sweater over his hands but his voice is steady. “Sorry for what, having clumsy giant hands?” 

“It would look super weird if I had small hands,” Finn says. 

“Or feet,” Kurt says. “You trip over yourself enough already.”

“I’m big all over. It’s cool.” 

“Mm, I know you are,” Kurt says, and then shakes his head. Finn can see the blush trailing down his neck, and can’t help but wonder how far down it goes. “I should, uh, call Blaine. Make sure he’s packed some sensible shoes for sightseeing. And socks! You can’t be sockless even during a mild November. I’m not rubbing lotion into his blisters again because I think there’s still fake tan in his lotion from when I was angry with him last summer during _Chandlergate_ , and…” 

Finn laughs. Kurt’s babbling, and he’s pretty sure he’s the reason for that. He smiles down at Kurt and brushes the tips of his fingers across the flushed skin of Kurt’s neck, touching just below the neckline of his sweater. Finn’s under no illusions Kurt’s going to dump Blaine and jump into his bed -- or couch -- but he needs Kurt to at least know he’s wanting something more. The guy might have feminine traits: smooth skin, soft hair, and he even wears eyeliner. The yoga pants he’s wearing leave no doubt in Finn’s mind how much of a guy Kurt is, though. The way they’re hugging Kurt’s thighs is driving him crazy. 

“Sensible shoes? Thought you’d be spending most of your time in the hotel room.” 

“Unlike _some_ people I could mention, there’s more to my relationships than sex,” Kurt says. He tilts his head towards Finn’s hand that’s still stroking his neck and shoulders. “Why the impromptu neck rub?”

“You looked super tense earlier. Thought it might help you relax.” 

“It feels amazing, but…” Kurt pulls away a little. “Blaine accused me of betraying him when I told him Chase bought me lunch the other week. He knows you’re tactile, but if you keep on doing that…” 

“Blaine doesn’t need to know,” Finn says. “Why don’t you lie down on your bed and let me give you a back rub?” 

“I have to call Blaine, and you have to call Rachel. If you aren’t at each other’s throats, you’re at each other’s lips. Better tell her to bring some vegan cough drops to suck on for all the shouting you’ll both be doing.” 

“All the sucking _I’ll_ be getting,” Finn mutters. “Not that I can blame her. Who’d want to do that?” 

Kurt snorts. “I can assure you, if you _do_ break up and expand your horizons, you’ll find boys are little more… accommodating.” He pauses, and laughs. “Wait, you thought me and Blaine just ate fruit plates and watched _Murder She Wrote_ together?” 

“I gotta pee!” Finn blurts out, the image making his pants a lot tighter all of a sudden. 

When Rachel and Kurt were having one of their squabbles at the start of senior year, Rachel blurted out that Kurt had a bucket list where he’d listed all of the things he wanted to do, a fair few of them sexual. While Finn didn’t press for details, he’s almost certain Kurt’s had some pretty detailed fantasies about _him_. He’d definitely plan it out, right down to the color of the sheets, the song on his iPod, and the scents of the candles he’d light. 

_Please not that Katy Perry song about seeing someone’s peacock_ , Finn thinks. Although given the hipper crowd Kurt’s falling into at NYADA, he’d probably want Bon Iver or something. 

If Rachel and Blaine weren’t in the picture, Finn’s pretty sure him and Kurt would be dating. Part of Finn wants to just walk back out into the living area and kiss Kurt stupid; Blaine’s really not someone he’d feel bad about hurting. Rachel, though, is the problem. His job is to protect her, not hurt her; having her find out Finn and Kurt were boyfriends would probably make her restraining order feel like a birthday present. 

On the morning of Thanksgiving, Finn accidentally wakes Kurt up when the smoke detector beeps five minutes before the oven timer’s due to go off. He’s cooked plenty of new things this semester, but muffins that don’t come from a box mix are clearly above his skill set.

“What’s burning?” Kurt says, walking through to the kitchen. He opens the small window and uses a magazine he’s left out on the counter to fan the smoke. 

“Pumpkin muffins,” Finn says, staring at the orange lumps that are black on top and probably liquid in the center. “I screwed up. Mom always used to make breakfast muffins on Thanksgiving, and I was feeling… what’s the word that means you’re sad but happy at the same time?” 

“Nostalgic?” Kurt says, eyeballing the kitchen counter. “Sweetie, did you use yams in syrup instead of the pumpkin?” 

“They didn’t have any pumpkin at the store,” Finn says. “I have, like, two dozen eggs though.” 

“Come on. I’ll put my apron on and show you how to make baked French toast.” 

\-- 

Finn’s never had so much fun cooking. Kurt sets up his ingredients in a much more methodical way than Finn did. He tears the bread into chunks and instructs Finn on whisking together the eggs, milk, cream and sugar. He’s perhaps not the most patient teacher and yells at Finn when he tries to take out pieces of eggshell with his fingertips, but within the hour, the apartment smells like Fall. In the fifteen minutes Finn takes to shower, Kurt’s managed to assemble a spread on their small fold-out table. There’s orange napkins, a small wicker turkey, and even a vase with fresh flowers. 

“This is so cool,” Finn says. His stomach rumbles as he looks at his plate of sausages and bacon from the awesome butcher’s in Park Slope, and the French toast with only a small amount of eggshell in the batter. “Is this your way of using up all the animals before Rachel gets here?” 

“There _is_ that,” Kurt says, pouring them both a glass of juice. “We’re going to face some difficult choices over the next two days. I thought I’d start the day off right and give my favorite person my thanks.” 

“Blaine’s not here, though.” 

“You’re my favorite person, silly!” Kurt says. “Now start eating before I scoff the lot.” 

Finn takes a huge forkful of food and speaks with his mouth half-open. “You’re the best ever.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Kurt says. He raises his glass of juice. “Here’s to family.” 

“Family,” Finn says, clinking his glass with Kurt’s. It seems a little significant to him that neither of them are really using the word _brother_ anymore. He wiggles in his chair to try and get more comfortable, and accidentally brushes his feet against Kurt’s bare lower legs. Kurt makes a surprised-sounding squeak, but doesn’t move to pull away. By the time they’ve finished their meal, Finn’s stroking his toes up the back of Kurt’s calves and Kurt’s smiling at him from across the table.

\--

After their breakfast, Finn gives the bathroom a last-minute clean while Kurt swings by the Condé Nast building to pick up his Thanksgiving gift from his boss, Isabelle. Finn dresses in his new jeans and a dark brown cashmere sweater Kurt picked out for him from the Vogue vault. His hair’s longer than it’s been in years, and he has more than a few days’ stubble. He _does_ look different, but this time he doesn’t care if Rachel thinks something’s up. He meets Kurt at Jamaica Station, and they take the AirTrain to JFK. 

“Here goes nothing,” Kurt says, gesturing towards where Rachel and Blaine are walking through Arrivals. 

“I know, right?” Finn mutters, fixing a smile on his face. “Here goes.” 

Blaine, barely taller than Rachel who’s wearing high heeled boots, actually _runs_ to embrace Kurt. Kurt might rag on Finn’s way of dressing, but at least Finn doesn’t wear mustard-colored pants with shiny red Oxfords. Briefly, Finn’s worried Kurt and Blaine will do one of those epic swooping movie kisses, but they just give each other a peck on the cheek. 

\--

“What do you guys want to do while you’re here?” Finn asks from the back of the cab Rachel insisted on taking. He hopes nobody suggests Times Square, or _god forbid_ , a Circle Line cruise.

Blaine, sat by the window and next to Kurt, gives Kurt’s hand a squeeze. “It’s a lovely sunny day. What about touring the Empire State Building?”

“Fifty bucks says no,” Kurt tells him. “How about Top of the Rock instead?”

Rachel squeals. “Ooh, is that a rock opera? How _edgy_!”

“Nah, it’s what they call the viewing deck at the Rock Center,” Finn says. He looks ahead to where Rachel’s sat next to their driver and feels he should hold her hand, but her hands are firmly clasped together in her lap. “Kurt and I watched the sunset from there the first week we came here. We could go check out the skating rink as well.”

“That sounds so romantic,” Blaine says. “If we ever get out of this cab,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the rush hour traffic.

“And that’s why real New Yorkers take the train,” Kurt says.

“I don’t care. Seeing New York from the street is just magical,” Rachel coos. She tilts her head back so Finn can see her smile. “The city is so _alive_ , and the leaves on the trees are still turning. I hope there’s still fall foliage in Central Park. My guide book told me there’s a tour called _View from the Past_. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Sure, we could do that, then maybe take a carriage ride?” Finn offers, realizing there _is_ something duller than one of the cruises. 

“Ugh, how _barbaric_!” Rachel says. “Every time I think New York is all rooftop gardens and urban farms, I’m reminded of the rot that lurks within. Do you have any idea of the misery those horses ensure because tourists like _you_ encourage this practice?”

“We’re not tourists,” Finn says. “We’ve lived here five months. Maybe we could do a Segway tour?”

Kurt laughs. “I’m not spending my Thanksgiving weekend visiting you in hospital, Finn.”

“It’s not so bad,” Finn says. “Nurses have the best Thanksgiving potlucks.”

“What about a Segway tour for you and Blaine, Kurt?” Rachel says. The cab continues to make slow progress through what happens to be one of the least scenic stretches of Metropolitan Avenue, the cemetery on one side and vacant lots on the other. “Is this your neighborhood?” she says, her voice wavering a little. “I didn’t see this part before when we were driving from La Guardia.”

“More or less,” Finn says, pointing out Cooper Park and explaining it’s where he often takes the kids he helps coach out for a run if it’s a nice day. He watches Rachel’s face fall further as they pass the truck-washing place, and the diner Finn’s recently discovered that makes a banana cream pie even better than his mom’s.

“Is there more to this city than the sights?” Blaine says, looking almost as uneasy as Rachel.

“Yeah, but between college and work, we don’t exactly have the time to see them,” Finn says. “It’s hard enough for me to keep my grades up. I’m pretty sure Kurt’s got one of those Harry Potter time-turning things.”

“Hm.” Rachel’s lips form a thin line before she speaks. “I thought education majors didn’t spend a great deal of time in the classroom, at least from _my_ understanding.”

“Finn isn’t an education major,” Kurt points out.

“Yeah. I’m undeclared, and you might wanna actually _go_ to college before you say stuff like that.”

Rachel shoots Finn an icy look. “Undeclared? Still?”

“It’s mostly just Gen Ed in your first semester. _Math for the Contemporary World_ and that kinda stuff. My boss at the school told me Exercise Science would help me at work, but I can’t really see myself being a Physical Therapist or an OT. My Psych class is probably my favorite, but grad school is super competitive, so…” 

“Grad school?” Rachel sputters. “Don’t we think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves?” 

“You always said I needed ambition,” Finn says. “Psychology's great. You get a pretty good understanding of why people act in the crazy ways they do. Speaking of, how’s _your_ college plans going?” 

Rachel smiles sweetly, ignoring the dig. “College isn’t the only option, you know. Last year I was perhaps a little _too_ hasty to push college on you, but that was only because you didn’t have any other plans. It’s my personal belief that an arts education is best gained from participating in the arts themselves.” 

“Uh huh,” Kurt says. He turns his head to Finn and gives him the sort of expression that indicates Rachel’s words are for her benefit rather than anyone else’s. “What about you, Blaine?”

“I’m keeping my options open,” Blaine says. “It’s early days yet, but Sam’s already helped me design a costume for when NYADA interview me.” 

Kurt snorts, and looks to Finn again who just shrugs one shoulder. As loathe as Finn is to admit it, Blaine _does_ have the same achievements as Kurt and Rachel under his belt. If he wants to be in New York in the fall, he will be, too. The thing is, Blaine’s slumped in his seat, and doesn’t look particularly happy about the New York scenery that’s on offer to him.

Finn sucks it up. He loves Thanksgiving, and he’s not going to spend his second favorite holiday of the year all miserable. He pretends he doesn’t hear Rachel when she complains about his neighborhood yet again, and tells anyone who’ll listen what’s cool about the place as the cab heads towards Blaine’s hotel in Williamsburg. 

\--

As Kurt exits the cab and grabs Blaine’s suitcase for him, Finn thinks he looks like a man walking to his own funeral. He acknowledges he’s jealous that Blaine’s father could afford such a place; it’s one of those modern hotels with the rooftop pools and a view over McCarren Park. Finn suggests making the rest of the trip on foot; Rachel refuses, though, even though Finn offers to carry her bag. Even telling her they can walk down Berry Street doesn’t make her smile. The moment Rachel’s through the door of the apartment and in the shower, Finn texts Kurt. 

_Screw those reservations at the place that gives their leftovers to the soup kitchen. We’re going to Greenpoint Meat & Cheese. I’ve never known her to be so cold. She’s been in the shower for nearly an hour singing that Carole King song about whether I’ll still love her tomorrow._

_She knows that’s about a one-nighter, right?_

_It is?_

_You two are as naive as each other. Have you had The Speech yet?_

Finn sighs. _I can’t be the jerk who dumps his fiancée on Thanksgiving._

_You have to dump her sometime. Talk later? My complimentary in-room massage awaits._

Finn feels a little put out that Kurt’s not having the awkward evening Finn knows he’ll probably have. He grabs his phone and plays a few rounds of Mafia Wars while Rachel is finishing up in the shower. Like the dutiful guy he is, he gets some caffeine-free green tea ready and waiting for her. With thanks to Kurt he knows how to make it, now.

“Is that green tea?” Rachel peers into the mug and frowns. “That’s so very kind, but my fathers found me a new throat specialist who says I should only drink lemon Rooibos.”

“Sorry,” Finn mutters. “You fancy hitting a party tonight? A couple of my friends from college can’t make it home and they’re having a house party. An Orphan Thanksgiving, they call it. Kurt’s boss is having a party at a drag bar, too.”

“What’s your life now?” Rachel snaps. “First you turn up to meet me wearing a cashmere sweater and skinny jeans, and now you’re going to fashionable parties. What is this, _The Quarterback Wears Prada_?”

Finn frowns. “Sorry I thought that it was time to stop dressing like some lumberjack kid. We should hang out with Kurt’s boss. You both come from the Midwest and like the color pink. You have loads in common!” 

“Is she prettier than me?” Rachel says. 

“She _is_ pretty, but it’s not like you need to be jealous. She’s older than my mom.” 

Rachel looks a little like she’s stepped on a snail in bare feet. “Well, a New York party could be glamorous, I suppose, but I didn’t bring anything _too_ formal.” 

“We could break into the Vogue vault?” Finn says. “Pretty sure the doormen know me from all the times I go to drop off Kurt’s lunch. Poor guy gets so forgetful when he’s tired.” 

“How very… _brotherly_ of you,” Rachel says, and turns on her heel to walk into the kitchen area.

Dinner is filling, but not _satisfying_. Finn might be used to most New York foods, but nothing’s ever going to top his mom’s comforting Midwestern stodge. Kurt keeps his head down, barely even eating his food. Kurt and Blaine go back to the hotel to get ready, and Finn briefly drops in on Adam who’s spent the afternoon in a soup kitchen with most of the Apples, Kurt's acapella group from college.

At around nine pm, there’s a knock on the door of the apartment. Finn opens it, still buttoning up his shirt, thinking it will just be Kurt. 

It’s Kurt, alright. He’s wearing a tight red shirt tucked into what might actually be chef’s pants. 

Behind him are, Finn counts, six drag queens. One is responsible for playing the loud music about wanting to have a _kiki_ , whatever the hell that is. The drag queens part, and Isabelle comes into view like a tiny, drunken swan. 

“Ladies,” Kurt says, taking one drag queen’s hand in each of his. “Things went a little sour at _Maxine’s_ tonight, so I told Shangela and Jynx they could bring the party here.” 

\--

Finn can’t quite believe this is his life. He looks between the shirtless guys wearing orange dress pants and the drag queens in their mirrored platform heels, and he wonders how on earth he ended up here. The music is so loud that Finn decides to knock on his neighbor’s doors, inviting Aylin and Jackie from 3B who also bring Aylin’s boyfriend Diego, and their combined body weight in tequila. 

“Isabelle is _awesome_!” Finn declares, offering Kurt a high five. 

Not only does Kurt’s boss know all the words to “New York City Boy” by the Pet Shop Boys, but she also turns something of a blind eye to minors drinking at private parties. She gifts Kurt a really tacky pin of a turkey perching on a wishbone which he adores, and also gives the two of them a bottle of limoncello which Kurt is already drinking with gusto. 

“Dance with me, Finn!” Kurt says, tugging on Finn’s shirt sleeve. His voice is barely audible over the 80s cheese, and he’s shaking his hips and butt in a way that ensures Finn’s eyes are very much focused on him over Rachel. 

Finn tries to shake and sway with some sort of rhythm, and ends up dancing with some of Isabelle’s female colleagues who seem to think he’s the cutest thing since that video of a kitten riding a Roomba. 

Maybe Kurt will buy him a Roomba for Christmas? 

“Here, try some of this,” Kurt declares, passing Finn the limoncello. “Everyone else is loosening up here. Look at how sloppy Blaine is.” 

“It doesn’t surprise me he’s a stripper girl drunk,” Finn mutters, watching Blaine unbutton his shirt. “Which archetype are _you_ , Kurt?” 

Kurt doesn’t answer, and pokes Finn. He points towards Rachel who looks very much a Lima transplant in her short pink dress, her bronze curls bouncing as she dances. “Needy girl drunk, incoming,” Kurt says, and then gawps as a guy with high cheekbones and a tight black shirt makes his way over to her. “Ooh, she should get in there before the clock hits midnight and her pantyhose turn into argyle knee socks.” 

“Who the _hell_ is that?” Finn says, thinking Kurt might not be comfortable with the fact he likes guys, let alone him realizing that guys with fine features and piercing eyes are definitely his type.

“Brody Weston. One of the leads in NYADA’s production of _Bare_. Rumor has it he has a few too many extra credit assignments with my dance teacher, if you know what I mean.”

Finn blinks. “Is he flirting with her?” There was a time when he would have walked over and punched the guy in the face, but he’s glad Rachel’s distracted enough he can maybe get Kurt alone. “You want to go outside and get some fresh air?”

Kurt nods his agreement, and they slip outside without anyone noticing them, the bottle of limoncello still in Kurt’s hand. They both sit on the front step, the music still audible behind them as they look out into the mild New York night, the bottle of booze between their feet.

It feels like minutes before Kurt speaks. “Is there something wrong with me?” he says.

“What?” Finn watches Kurt take a long sip of liquor. “Why would you say that?”

“Blaine and I spent the whole afternoon in our hotel room. We got massages, and ordered a fruit platter, and _oh_ , the thread count on our cotton robes was divine. But when I went to kiss him, he pulled away. When we were dancing earlier, he was holding me at arm’s length. I know I’m tense with everything else going on, and I know he’s tired from the journey, but…”

“I’m sure he’s just tired. Rachel had to have a nap before the party.”

“You’re right. Did you and Rachel have a nice day?”

“Yeah.” Finn reaches for the bottle, and takes a large swig of the limoncello. It tastes a little like the lemon curd his Nana Hudson used to make, only it burns the back of his throat. “Probably because I did everything the way she wanted me to. As long as I don’t tell her my thoughts and opinions, I’m fine!”

“Perish the thought you use those smarts you’ve worked so hard in cultivating,” Kurt says, and rolls his eyes. He snatches the bottle from Finn and takes another swig.

“Woah, go slow. There’s sloppy, and there’s passed out in the street. It’s nice to see her getting on with Isabelle, though, and that Brody guy. She’s not laughed like that for _me_ all day, but...” Finn lowers his voice, whispering into Kurt’s ear. “Did you ever notice how annoying she can be? I feel like the little high school things that endeared me to her are gone, but the bigger things? The things I don’t like? They stuck around.”

“People grow. People change!”

“Well, she’s changed. Last time she visited, she was, you know. _Physical_. I tried to kiss her earlier and she stared at me like I was a creepy sex pest on one of those TLC shows. And like you said, if we’re not at each other’s throats, we’re at each other’s lips, so… what are we even meant to do?”

Kurt stares at Finn like he’s got two heads. “If you want to break up with her, why are you trying to _kiss_ her?”

“I… I dunno. You said yourself she was my endgame, right?” Finn reaches for the bottle and decides another drink might help him. “Did you get up to anything with Blaine?”

Kurt shakes his head. “He was more turned on by the cheese plate than he was by me.”

Finn slumps down, his arms folded under his chin and resting on top of his knees. He can hear Kurt taking another drink, and Finn’s starting to realize why girls who drink this stuff get drunk so easily. “I’m probably only saying this because I’m really drunk, but you’re probably the biggest catch in New York. Why the hell wouldn’t Blaine want you?”

“Probably because I don’t want _him_ , either. Finn, I...” Kurt sighs, tilting his head on Finn’s shoulder. “I missed the intimacy, and I tried so hard to get it back, but…”

“She doesn’t want me either.” Finn looks up at Kurt and takes the bottle from him. “I know Blaine’s in love with you, though. He’s probably about to go all _Zero Dark Thirty_ on your ass like some love terrorist or something.” 

Kurt snorts, dribbling limoncello down his shirt. “Great. This is new season Issey Miyake.” 

“It’s cool. It looks the same as the other splotches,” Finn says. 

“That’s not a splotch. It’s _ombre_ ,” Kurt huffs. “You might have dreadful fashion sense, but at least you have my back. You and Rachel aren’t working out, but it has nothing to do with you.” 

Finn gives Kurt’s shoulder a squeeze. “Look at me. You’re the most courageous and determined guy I know. I know you have the courage to go after what you really want.” He reaches for the limoncello and promptly takes a too-large mouthful, spilling some on his shirt. “Guess we match now. That tie was new season Target.” 

“You are such a dork. Here, let me take your tie off,” Kurt says. He leans towards Finn, his fingers nimble as they untie the knot and loop the edges of Finn’s tie around his shoulders. “I don’t feel very courageous right now,” he says. 

Finn’s not sure he has the courage, either. He opens his mouth in surprise when Kurt takes both ends of the tie around his neck, pulling Finn so close that he can catch Kurt’s scent. It’s a new cologne, something that smells a bit like pepper and the battered leather jacket of his fathers that his mom keeps in the attic back in Lima. 

“If this was a movie, we’d be kissing right now. You know that?” 

Kurt loops the fabric away from Finn’s shoulders and pulls back. “You and Rachel?” he says. 

Finn doesn’t even think before he leans in, lightly brushing his lips against Kurt’s cheek. “No,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You and _me_. Can I kiss you, Kurt?” 

When Kurt turns his head towards the streetlights, Finn can see the fear in his eyes. “This isn’t _Clueless_ ,” he says, tipping his head down. “My life isn’t a romance movie, no matter how much I want it to be.” 

“I get it,” Finn says. His stomach is tight, and he watches Kurt stand up out of the corner of his eye, the mostly-finished bottle in front of him. He can hear Kurt’s footsteps as he walks back up the front steps. “You made your choice back in junior year. I hope Blaine knows he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have you.” 

Kurt’s breath hitches. “Finn?” he says, his voice breaking at the edges. “Nobody in my life has made me feel as lucky as you, and that’s why I can’t do this. If it didn’t work out and I lost you, what would I have left?” 

“If that’s how you feel, why be with _anyone_?”

“A boyfriend can be replaced,” Kurt says. “Family is irreplaceable.” 

\--

Finn stays out on the front step just staring out into the street until about half one, by which time the drag queens are wanting to move on somewhere else anyway. He stops drinking after his conversation with Kurt, because he knows he has to have the hardest conversation with Rachel he’ll ever have. He sees Kurt and Blaine into their cab, changes into his pajamas, and tidies up the last few bottles while Rachel’s in the bathroom. 

“Hey, Rach,” Finn says, slipping under the sheets. “What did you think of the party? It’s pretty cool to have your own place, huh?” 

“It was fun,” Rachel says quietly. She smooths her hair behind her neck and adjusts the pillow. “Did you spray these? They smell like lavender.” 

“One of Kurt’s tips. He says it helps you get a restful, natural night’s sleep.” 

Rachel turns to face him. “He’s not had a restful night’s sleep in over a month, and I think I know why,” she says, her voice wobbling. “Kurt’s not okay with Blaine, and I… I can’t pretend things are okay between us, either.” 

Finn sits up. “What do you mean you’re not okay?” 

“I… I don’t think we should be together,” Rachel says. “You are a wonderful man, and it makes me so happy you’re starting to see yourself the way the rest of the world does, but… I can’t marry you, Finn.” 

“Oh.” Finn can’t help the grin his face forms. “Cool!” 

“Cool?” Rachel shrieks. “I’m breaking up with you, and all you can say is --” she pokes him in the chest and actually starts laughing. “Wait, were you just about to break up with _me_?” 

Finn smiles. “Just now, actually. I love you so much, Rach, but the past few months have shown me that it’s just as a friend. I guess it’s the same for you, huh?” 

“We have both been distant, but at least I can explain why.” Rachel turns so she’s on her back. “Remember when I flew out to Chicago in September? I met my father’s friend Joe, and showed him some videos of my keynote performances. He was so impressed that he told me I should audition for a new production of _Ghost: the Musical_ at the Shubert.” 

“That’s awesome!” Finn says. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“I auditioned, but I was angry. The producers told me my callback was for the ensemble,” Rachel scoffs. “I couldn’t believe it, I just couldn’t, but… I picked myself up, and read one of Barbra’s biographies to remind myself of her initial struggles. Anyway, at my callback, I was waiting in the wings and the directors asked me to read for Molly. Apparently, the girl who was a shoe-in had contracted salmonella poisoning. Nothing to do with the congratulatory gift hamper I’d sent her, of course.” 

“You… poisoned her?” Finn shakes his head. “I never thought you’d stoop to that. You harassed the NYADA admissions board so much they had to take legal action, so you went to Chicago and poisoned some poor girl? That’s not just shady. That’s illegal!” 

“Poisoned?” Rachel says. “Don’t be silly. The salmonella was traced back to the four cheese pizza she’d eaten the previous night. It never would have happened to a vegan.” 

“So you got the part?” 

Rachel grins. “We’ll wait and see. If I do, the production will run until May, then I’ll go on a summer cruise with my fathers and then…” 

“You’ll come to New York?” 

“I’ll be taking up my place at The Theatre School at DePaul,” Rachel says. “I knew that New York might not have been right for me when we were here for Nationals, but it took me a second trip to realize that it wasn’t what I thought it would be. My fathers speak so favorably of Chicago; they told me there was just something in the water.” 

Finn smirks. “You’re sure it’s not Legionnaire’s Disease?” 

“Could you believe, the theater schools were _fighting_ over me?” Rachel says. “I have a six to one student to teacher ratio, and a very competitive financial aid package. If I’m honest, after what Kurt’s told me about Ms. July’s classes, I’m not quite sure NYADA would have been the best fit anyway.” 

“If I wasn’t loving New York, I’d be pissed as hell right now.” 

Rachel smiles, placing a hand on Finn’s chest. “I’m not the reason you’re here,” she says. “That’s all Kurt, and I can see it on your face that moving is the best decision you could ever have made. You’re in love, and it’s not with _me_. Can you promise me that you’ll find the courage to be with the person who makes you feel even bigger?” 

“I want you to be happy, too. Say what you like about Jesse St. James, but the guy _does_ love you, crazy parts and all.” 

“Jesse? That seems unlikely. Look, Finn. I knew since last May that marrying you was probably the worst thing for me if I was to fulfill my dreams, but I hung on and hung on until I knew we both found what we were looking for. Thank you for letting me find my own way, especially when I wasn’t the most helpful in letting you find _yours_.” 

Finn guesses that this is what the love for a sibling is actually meant to feel like. He loves her, but more than that, he feels a great sense of relief. “Guess that star wasn’t such a lame present after all. Happy Thanksgiving, Rach.” 

Rachel snuggles against Finn’s side and closes her eyes. “You too, Finn.”

The following morning, Finn prepares a simple fruit salad and puts some vegan waffles in the toaster. He eats his breakfast at the fold-out table with Rachel and discusses how they’ll avoid the Black Friday crowds before meeting up with Kurt and Blaine that evening. 

Rachel surprises Finn with tickets to the matinee of _Rock of Ages_ as a late birthday present, and afterwards they do all the tacky tourist things Kurt hasn’t let Finn indulge in such as checking out the art installations on the High Line and gawping at the performance artists in Times Square. They walk around one of the markets and sit down to eat vegetarian maki at one of the stalls. Rachel surprises him by eating one of the omelette ones, saying nothing about the unfortunate lives of baby chickens before she pops it in her mouth. 

“I wonder how Kurt’s getting on?” Finn asks her. “Blaine’s hotel makes a Marriott look like a crack den. Kurt says they’re getting hot stone treatments by the saltwater pool and going for a holiday afternoon tea. Guess when you’re a Broadway big shot you’ll stay in even fancier places.” 

Rachel smiles sweetly. “Whatever you do after college will be tough, but I’m sure it has its own rewards.” 

“Are you _sure_ you’re Rachel Berry? I mean, you look like her, but…” 

“She needed to change,” Rachel says, a little stiffly as they walk to the subway after a walk through Central Park. It’s dark by now, but Rachel seems much more at ease. 

“Are you going to tell Kurt and Blaine about your plans tonight?” Finn says. 

Rachel nods, her shopping bag swinging from her hand as they walk down the steps together. “I will,” she says, fumbling in her purse for her ticket. “I have to ask you something, Finn. If I’m not your person anymore, who is?” 

Finn scratches at the back of his neck. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about. Dating? I’m way too busy for anything like that. Anyway, you think Mom will buy me a plane ticket to see you in Chicago for Christmas? I could visit for Spring Break. Just don’t take me to the place that does the poison pizza.” 

“You should bring Kurt!” Rachel claps her hands together just before her turn to walk through the turnstile, causing the woman behind her to mutter something very unpleasant. “You could rent a car and drive to Starved Rock State Park and stay in one of the lodges. My daddy used to love hiking there.”

“Yeah, because Kurt’s so outdoorsy,” Finn says. “I think he’d cold shoulder me for a month.” 

“Campfire s’mores and stargazing together?” Rachel says. “Are you kidding? Kurt would love to snuggle up by the fire. Well, as long as the lodges have indoor plumbing...”

The last time Rachel visited him, the word _obtuse_ came to mind. This time around, Finn’s starting to realize Rachel’s not actually obtuse at all. Finn just stares at the grotty white tile opposite him and says nothing. 

“How long have you known?” Rachel says, just as the train’s pulling in. 

“Known… what?” Finn says, feeling the blood rush from his cheeks. 

“That you’re in love with Kurt. I’ve seen the way you look at him, Finn. I saw it last night when you danced with him at the party. You look at him the way you used to look at _me_ , and Kurt has never looked at Blaine like that in his life. Why don’t you sing him a song tonight, and let him know how you feel?” 

Finn snorts. Rachel Berry: both Yente and Yentl. “All that dairy at the market made you crazy girl Rachel. Blaine’s a member of some weird _Fight Club_ deal, and I kinda like my face arranged the way it is, thanks.” 

Rachel smiles at him. It’s not breezy; it reminds Finn of a piranha. “So if Blaine wasn’t in the picture, you and Kurt would be boyfriends?” 

Finn is glad that they’re occupied with finding a spot on the train, because he knows he can’t speak before he thinks on this one. “Would that make you mad?” he says. “‘Cause if you broke up with me to date Puck, I’m not sure I’d be cool with it.” 

“Mad?” Rachel shakes her head. “You two are _perfect_ for each other. Does he know that you like boys too?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, and he knows he’s pretty much the dictionary definition of my type. I kinda told him last night. At the party. I thought we had a moment, but he just mumbled something about Blaine being _lucky_. Well, duh. Of course Blaine’s lucky. I’d be lucky if I got to be with him too. Who’s me to tell Kurt what makes him happy?”

“Neither of them are happy,” Rachel says. She clutches her purse tightly against her body and looks up at Finn with the saddest brown eyes. “Blaine’s been so moody I’m scared to even approach him about songs for Sectionals, and Kurt’s been snapping at me that he’s _fine_ while looking more miserable than me when I found out they wanted me in the ensemble for _Ghost_.”

“So why don’t they just break up already?” 

“What’s most important to Kurt? Family, and being himself. It takes a lot of trust for him to let someone in. It’s taken years for you two to get to this point; you have to admit it’s going to be difficult for him to take that leap.” 

Finn sighs. “I’m scared of that, too. Kurt deserves the world, and I don’t think I can deliver that.” 

“Do you like any other boys?” Rachel says, sounding far too excited by the prospect. 

Finn stares up at the top of the subway car, wishing it would just collapse in on him. There’s something more than surreal about coming out to his former fiancée in the middle of a packed train while angry shoppers bump into his armpit. “I guess. Maybe I should go talk to the guys at the LGBT+ Student Union about it or something rather than stumbling through like some inexperienced idiot?” 

Rachel elbows Finn lightly in the chest. “As Barbra once said? Go by instinct, not experience.” 

\--

After they eat dinner, Finn and Rachel meet Kurt at the donut shop below the apartment. Blaine’s apparently still in the hotel room sulking because he tripped over on the outdoor rink and scraped up his knee. Kurt’s made it quite clear that Blaine was dressed like a colorblind pirate showing too much _booty_ and an outfit change was for the best. Finn’s not completely sure that the trip was accidental, but he decides not to voice this opinion to Kurt. 

“How was Blaine today?” Rachel asks, aiming for some sort of cheer. 

“Channeling his inner Kristen Stewart,” Kurt says, taking a large bite of his cruller. “One moment he was calling me cute names and opening doors for me, and the next he’s giving me the silent treatment and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. I know he has these moods, but it got so bad I threatened to dump him in the boating lake in Central Park. He didn’t give me any hints about what he wanted to do, and certainly wasn’t enjoying _my_ suggestions.”

“Oh, Kurt.” Rachel gives Kurt’s hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

Kurt sighs. “How was your day?”

“Awesome!” Finn says. “We saw _Rock of Ages_ , and some weird graffiti Rach said was called a Banksy, and I even ate vegetarian sushi and didn’t puke afterwards.” 

“We had such a lovely time,” Rachel said. “Do you think Blaine might break up with you?” she asks Kurt, almost as a loaded question. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Kurt! You’re dumped.” Kurt shakes his head. 

Finn coughs. “I had a pretty great Thanksgiving, and _I_ was dumped.”

“It’s about time,” Kurt says, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’d give you both my sympathies, but I’ve spent the past month seeing Finn look constipated with guilt. I’m glad _someone_ was man enough. Are you still moving to New York?” 

“No.” Rachel takes a sip of her hot water and lemon. “I’m moving to Chicago, and I’m attending DePaul on a full scholarship. Oh, and there’s the tiny little piece of news that I’m waiting to hear back from my callback for Molly in a new touring production of _Ghost: the Musical_ , too. It might not be Broadway, but I think I might have found my niche.” 

Kurt leans over the table to poke Rachel. “Hm. _Feels_ human, but I’m not entirely convinced this is the real Rachel Berry. Whatever happened to both of us taking on the Great White Way?”

“In five years’ time, you’ll be writing _your_ first production, and I’ll have real-world experience under my belt. We’ll be unstoppable! When I return to New York, I will not give NYADA the satisfaction of taking credit for _any_ of my success.”

“Uh, Rach? Doesn’t the fact they turned you down give them credit, because without the restraining order you --” Finn starts, glaring when Kurt kicks his shin from under the table. “Yeah, screw NYADA. Kurt, that sounds like an awesome plan. Is Blaine moving out here?”

Kurt licks the powdered sugar from his fingers. “I really don’t know,” he says. “He’s told me that he’s _living for the moment_ , whatever that means. He wouldn’t even look up from his phone when we were walking through Bryant Park. So much for my dreams of being kissed by the fountain.” 

“Ew. I don’t want to think about you two slobbering by that fountain,” Finn says. 

“Finn!” Rachel admonishes. 

“We don’t _slobber_ , but even if we did, it would have been more special than Cindy Fuego’s plaid couch. Maybe we should go to _Flaming Saddles_ after _Callbacks_ , and you can have a little tete-a-tete with your pal Elliott. Second time’s the charm, am I right?”

Rachel tosses her hair over her shoulder and wags her finger at Kurt. “It’s not funny to joke about Finn’s burgeoning sexuality!”

Kurt laughs into his fist. “Oh, it’s burgeoning, alright.”

“You didn’t tell me about Elliott!” Rachel shrieks. “Is he cute?” 

“Saddle up, Finn!” Kurt says, and then looks a little guilty. “Don’t give me that look. Rachel told me you told _her_ , so nobody is outing anyone.” 

“He did,” Rachel says. “It’s a little strange to think that I now have _two_ ex-boyfriends who enjoy the company of men. Can I include this in my autobiography?” 

Kurt and Finn raise their voices and speak in unison. “No.”

\--

They end up meeting Blaine at the piano bar. Finn knows he looks the part of an artsy college student, but in his straight leg jeans and his _The Who_ shirt he got from the concert at Barclays Center a few weeks ago, he’ll never pass as a theater major. The bar is called _Callbacks_ , and it’s where most of the NYADA students go to show off their talent. 

Drinks ordered, Kurt strides over to the guy at the piano and whispers his request. He’s holding a martini glass between his thumb and forefinger, and wearing a pin in the shape of a crown. _Royalty_ , Finn thinks. It seems fitting. 

Rachel’s first to sing. She performs “Don’t Rain on My Parade”. Her lighter hair and darker clothes mean she’s not instantly recognizable but gossip travels fast. 

A guy next to Finn pipes up. “Hey, isn’t that the restraining order girl with the T-Rex boyfriend?” 

Finn smirks. “Does she sound like someone who choked now?”

The guy whistles through his teeth. “No way. I’m glad she _did_ choke. Last thing we need is more competition for the Winter Showcase.”

The song ends with Rachel holding her note perfectly, and she thanks the audience, taking a bow and telling them that she’d love to greet them by the stage door in Chicago. When someone asks her for an autograph, she signs it happily and squeals to Finn that she knew the decision to carry headshots in her purse would pay dividends. Finn’s fairly sure she’s got hundreds on her desk at home, each with a gold star sticker stuck on the corner, and the thought makes him smile.

Blaine turns to Kurt. “Did you request a song for us to sing?”

“What do you mean, _us_?” Kurt says.

“Well, if you don’t feel like performing, I could do something from _West Side Story_ as a solo, although I think “One Hand One Heart” would be much more romantic as a duet.”

“Oh, I have my song,” Kurt says. “I’ve heard a rumor that four people have already been invited to the Winter Showcase. You don’t get an invite by singing duets.” 

“I think the alcohol is clouding your judgement,” Blaine mutters, gesturing to Kurt’s martini glass.

“It’s a Shirley Temple, actually,” Kurt says. He rolls his eyes. “My judgement is just fine.”

The piano player calls out Kurt’s name, and Kurt strides over, his face fixed in a look of determination. The first few chords sound out, and Rachel makes an excited gasp and claps her hands together. 

_I don't know how to love him,_  
_What to do, how to move him._  
_I've been changed, yes, really changed._  
_In these past few days when I've seen myself_  
_I seem like someone else._

Kurt’s singing in this rich, low register that’s almost baritone, and it makes Finn’s arms come out in gooseflesh. The coeds who were busy on their phones are all looking up, and the dull buzz of chatter comes almost to a standstill. Kurt might be singing that he seems like someone else, but he’s very much his own person right now.

_Don't you think it's rather funny_  
_I should be in this position?_  
_I'm the one who's always been_  
_So calm, so cool, no lover's fool_  
_Running every show_

“Finn!” Rachel whispers. “I think he’s breaking up with Blaine in song!”

_Yet, if he said he loved me_  
_I'd be lost, I'd be frightened._

Kurt continues the song, his eyes tightly closed. He’s not doing his usual shimmy, but instead sways gently to the music. The microphone is clutched tightly in his hand, and he opens his eyes, looking directly at Finn as he finishes his song.

_I want him so._  
_I love him so._

There’s a moment when the whole crowd falls into silence before they whistle and clap. Kurt places a hand over his chest, seeming genuinely shocked by the response. He almost looks embarrassed.

“Thank you!” Kurt says. “Kurt Hummel, ladies and gentlemen!”

Rachel grins when Kurt saunters back over. “Kurt, that was phenomenal, even if it is a little… different to be an atheist singing from _Jesus Christ Superstar_. Would you like to sing a duet? What about “Friendship” from _Anything Goes_?”

Blaine finally pipes up. His shoulders are squared, and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Love shouldn’t make you feel frightened,” he says, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s back. “I don’t want you to feel _lost_.” 

“You don’t make me feel lost,” Kurt snaps back. 

“Then what are you getting at here?” Blaine says.

“It’s just a song,” Kurt says. “If you’ll all excuse me, I need to head back to the apartment to wash my work uniform. I’ll see you in the morning, Blaine. I really want a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”

Blaine raises his eyebrow. “You can’t expect Rachel to sleep in your bed after breaking up with Finn. It’s not gentlemanly to make her take the couch.” 

Finn laughs, glad Blaine doesn’t know about the fold-out bed. “You’re right. How awful of me. Kurt, why don’t I crash in your room? I bet you and Cooper slept head to toe all the time when you were kids.” 

“We really didn’t,” Blaine says. “We didn’t even share…” 

“Gotta warn you, Kurt. I’m a bit of a cuddler,” Finn says. 

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Kurt says quickly, not giving Blaine the time to respond. 

Rachel takes Kurt’s arm in his. “Safety in numbers!” she trills, and the pair quickly rush away. 

Blaine wastes no time tugging on the back of Finn’s shirt and dragging him over to a somewhat quieter corner of the bar. Finn likes to think he’s good at reading people; he knows Blaine pretends to be some gelled prim gentleman, but beneath that lurks a lot of anger. Finn’s no stranger to anger himself. He watches Blaine’s hand curl into a tight fist in a way that makes him feel a little uneasy, despite the height and weight he has on the guy.

“What did I ever do to you, Finn?” Blaine says. “You took a dislike to me from before I even started at McKinley. It can’t be my singing or my leadership skills because we don’t even go to the same _school_ anymore. I thought we had some kind of truce from your senior year, but there’s no need for this. Spit it out. Why do you hate me?”

“Well, there’s the fact you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met, but I don’t hate you,” Finn says. “I just don’t like seeing you with Kurt.” 

“I get him for two nights. You get to see him every single day.” 

“Huh. You think you’d be making more of your time together.” 

“How can I when he spends all of his time talking about you? _I saw the most romantic play with Finn. Did you know Finn loves watching cookery shows? Finn made me peanut butter cookies this weekend, and I couldn’t believe how well he did._ ” 

Finn snorts. “Guess he just likes spending time with me.” 

“What do you even talk about together?” Blaine says. “Do you even talk about anything, or do you just let him stare at you all moon-eyed because you like the attention?” 

Kurt walks over and stands right next to Finn, his arms folded tightly across his chest. 

Finn curls his arm around Kurt’s back. His heart’s pounding in his chest so hard that he thinks he might just pass out, and he looks over to the bar where Rachel’s chatting to the guy she met at their Thanksgiving party. He makes eye contact with Blaine who’s laughing the sort of laugh of someone who should probably be wrapped up in a straitjacket. 

“It’s pretty funny,” Blaine spits out. “There I was feeling _sick_ with guilt and you have no reservations about flirting with your stepbrother.” 

“What do you mean, _sick with guilt_?” Kurt says. 

“Does it even matter?” Blaine says. “Fine. Okay. There was… there was this guy. I met him on one of those websites.”

Kurt looks to Finn, his eyes full of tears and shakes his head wildly. “You didn’t…” he says, quietly. “I know we were heading towards breaking up, but I never thought you’d go about things in this way. You could have sat me down and talked about it like an adult, but instead you took off your stupid highwater pants for the first guy you could find? Who was he?” Kurt spits out. “Please tell me it wasn’t Sebastian.” 

“It wasn’t Sebastian. It was just… I didn’t even get his name. We just fooled around, guy-to-guy, and that was all. It meant nothing to me!” 

Kurt throws his hands in the air and turns on his heel. “Well it means something to _me_. That’s even worse!” 

“I’m done here,” Finn says. “Kurt, I gotta go, ‘cause if I have to look at his obnoxious face for one more second, he’s gonna be doing his NYADA audition from a freaking hospital bed.”

Blaine puffs up his shoulders. “I'm done, too. I should have been done a long time ago. You two love each other, don’t you? You’re singing a song about being scared to love, and…” Blaine pokes his finger at Finn’s chest. “That doesn’t surprise me, Finn. You always _have_ been a coward when it comes to Kurt.” 

“I’m not a coward anymore,” Finn says. 

“Oh?” Blaine laughs. “You’d put him above your reputation? Really?” 

“I’d put him above everything,” Finn says, and doesn’t even leave a beat before he swings his fist and lands a punch on Blaine’s jaw. He walks over to the bar, grabs Rachel’s hand, and doesn’t look back.

\--

It’s with thanks to Puck that Finn has a passable fake ID. Kent Cook, born on April 1st 1986. He wonders what advice, if any, his best friend would have for him as he tucks up a shell shocked Rachel into Kurt’s bed and then goes to buy a twelve pack of beer from the nearest convenience store. He puts on his most depressing playlist, and finally thinks he understands that Michael Stipe probably wasn’t singing about Jesus in “Losing My Religion”. 

Kurt and Blaine are over, and Finn just wishes Kurt would stride through the door of the apartment with his lips pink from the cold, and his hair messed up from the wind. They could share some of his crappy beer, and cuddle up in front of the space heater. 

Finn wonders if Blaine would have fessed up to cheating if Finn hadn’t have spoken to him. Would he have put on a fake smile and chirped his way through “Teenage Dream” like nothing was wrong? There’s not much else in the world that sucks as much as being cheated on, and the thought of Kurt blaming himself for not being enough for someone makes Finn wish he’d confronted Blaine much, much sooner. 

The following morning, Finn skips breakfast in favor of a handful of Advil and two bottles of water. He says little to Rachel on the journey back to the airport, letting her do all the talking for him as they catch the AirTrain back to JFK. When he arrives at the terminal, Finn scans the departures board and scowls when he sees Rachel’s flight’s on time. The less time he spends that day stewing in his own thoughts, the better.

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” Rachel says, then smiles up at him. “I can’t say I condone violence, but there is _something_ to be said about a man who’s willing to fight for you.” 

Finn laughs darkly. “I’d probably have punched him even if he hadn’t cheated.” 

“Kurt probably thinks it’s romantic,” Rachel says. 

“Hardly. He _hates_ violence. I screwed up, Rach. He doesn’t even want to talk to me.” 

Rachel pats Finn’s arm from their position under the departures board. “Kurt sent me a text saying he thought you needed to some space to drink yourself silly and wallow, and he was right. He stayed in a hotel in Chinatown that he said had such a pink bathmat it made him nostalgic for your house in Lima.” 

“He was right,” Finn says. “I did need some time to think.” 

“I was wrong at the start of the year. Your brother really _does_ know you better than I do.”

“Don’t call him my _brother_. Please, it just makes this even weirder.”

“It _is_ weird,” Rachel admits. “But given the rest of what’s happened in the New Directions, it’s really not so weird at all.”

Finn smiles, and reaches for Rachel’s hand. He runs his finger across the heart-shaped gold of her engagement ring. It’s his final reminder of the fact that just over a year ago, he was only certain about one aspect of his future. Now, he’s not exactly _certain_ , but he knows enough to know that his future is here in New York.

“By the way, I got the part in _Ghost_ ,” Rachel says, quietly. It’s the first time in her life that she doesn’t seem to want to draw attention to herself. “Barbra didn’t go to college when she left high school. She didn’t even have a permanent address. I’m two steps ahead of my idol already!”

“You got the part?” Finn immediately pulls her into a hug. “That’s amazing! When did you find out?”

“Last night, when we were leaving _Callbacks_ ,” Rachel says. “Why do you keep staring at my ring? Do you think it’s strange that I still wear it?” Rachel pauses. “Do you want it back?”

“No way. You’re keeping it for sure. I want you to look at it when you move back out here to join me and Kurt, and remember the girl you were when you first wore it. I want you to remember the determination you felt when those NYADA idiots told you that you couldn’t be a star. You’re gonna be great, Rach. I can’t wait to see you break a leg!”

“You just might if we dance together at Mr. Schuester's wedding,” Rachel says, and then squeals, clapping her hands together. “Look, it’s Kurt! He got my text!”

Kurt strides over, one hand clutched firmly against his satchel and the other clutching a bouquet of pink and purple flowers that’s much showier than the one Finn sent to Rachel for the opening night of her musical. The strong clap of the soles of his shoes against the shiny airport floor is unmistakable. 

Kurt passes Rachel the flowers, then immediately clasps her in a strong hug. “You got the part, Molly!” he says, cupping her face in his hand. “I am so _proud_ of you!”

“French tulips? Oh, Kurt. They’re beautiful.” Rachel holds up the bouquet, and sniffs deeply. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I want to die,” Kurt says. “I knew Blaine didn’t mean half the words he said to me, but I never thought I meant so little to him that he’d cheat.”

Rachel shakes her head, and looks even more heartbroken than Kurt does. “Did he even tell you why?”

“He said it was _difficult_ for him. Can you believe that? He said that he had needs, and that I couldn’t satisfy them because I wasn’t making enough time for him. I had needs, too, but I didn’t go looking for them on a skeevy online dating site.”

“Fucking asshole,” Finn says. “I wish I’d punched him even harder.” 

“It gets worse.” Kurt reaches into his satchel for a bottle of water, and takes a long sip. “He did it on the evening I went to see that play with you, Finn. There I was, watching two lonely people try not to fall into each other’s arms, while back in Lima he was-- I don't even want to think about it.” 

Rachel tips her nose up. She sounds murderous, a tiny bull terrier wrapped in a dark pink pea coat and matching manicure. “I am going to give him _hell_. I will ruin him. I won’t stop kicking the back of his seat until our plane touches down, and his name will be mud on the Broadway blogs. What else can I do to help?”

“I'll be fine,” Kurt says, his gaze cool and steady. “I’m better off without him. I’m fabulous, and he’s an idiot with too-big eyebrows, weirdly pale hands, and feet that smell like goat cheese that’s been left at room temperature too long. I should have broken things off with him before I left for New York, and spent Thanksgiving with the pair of you. I barely even got to see my best friend, and for what? The assumption from Blaine that he should take up all my time when I’ve apparently taken up none of his for the past six months?”

“We’ll spend Christmas together,” Rachel says. “And think of Chicago in the spring. The jazz, and the museums, and the tulips in Millennium Park.”

“The pizza,” Finn adds. “Rachel ate an egg yesterday, _and_ had real cream on her hot chocolate. She’ll be taking road trips to Wisconsin by the summer, I swear.”

Rachel frowns. She looks at her watch. “I’d better head to the security line. Can I get a hug from my favorite boys?”

Finn and Kurt both hug her in turn, leaving her clutching her flowers with a look that Finn strongly recognizes as optimism on her face. 

“Fly safe!” Finn calls out at her retreating form. “Throw Blaine out of the emergency exit for us!”

“They probably won’t even let him on the plane with all the hair gel he has in his carry on,” Kurt says under his breath. “Bye Rach! We love you!”

Once Rachel’s form has disappeared -- which takes a lot longer than one might expect for a girl who’s only a shade over five feet tall due to the copious amounts of pink she’s wearing -- Kurt turns to Finn. “I never thought she’d be the logical one,” he mutters. “Well. Relatively so. Did you... talk anything through with Rachel?”

“There was nothing to talk about. We’re cool.”

“I… didn’t mean about the two of _you_ ,” Kurt says, his eyes darting towards the floor.

Finn shrugs. “She was in bed by eleven. I just drank beer and listened to Coldplay.”

“Did that _Fix You_?” Kurt quips. 

“Not really. Wanna go see a movie, or maybe check out that new brunch place near Carl Schurz Park that Adam told me about? You could get one of your croak madame sandwiches.” 

“Croque, Finn. I’d love to, but I have band rehearsal in,” Kurt checks his watch. “Forty minutes. Whoops.”

“Guess I should probably study,” Finn says. Not much time before finals, you know?” Finn looks into Kurt’s eyes for the first time since they parted ways at the bar. He can see sadness there, and he wants to do what he can to fix it. His eyes are drawn to the shirt Kurt’s wearing under his coat, covered in tiny little skulls. “That shirt looks awesome on you,” he says. 

“Vintage McQueen. One of the better Ambien-related purchases I’ve made this month,” Kurt says, and stares down at his feet. “I’ll ...see you back at the apartment tonight.”

Finn swallows the lump in his throat. “See ya, Kurt.”

That evening, Finn’s heart speeds up when he opens the door to the apartment. He’s managed to retain _some_ knowledge of U.S. History, but it’s more the fact that he’ll be in the same room as Kurt without Rachel or Blaine hanging between them. He tosses his backpack onto the recliner and toes off his comfortable and very much not Kurt-approved sneakers.

The moment Finn sees Kurt, he stops cold.

Kurt’s on the couch, curled up in a ball. He’s holding some shiny blue fabric in his hands and staring down at it, his fingers thumbing the material.

“Kurt, hey?” Finn crouches down in front of the couch. “Is that your mom’s robe?”

Kurt nods. “Until I can ship her dresser here, it’s all I have of her. I sometimes talk to her in my head, pretending she’s still there. Crazy, right?”

“No.” Finn’s voice is firm. “That’s not crazy at all.”

“My mother would have adored you,” Kurt says. “Even when I was a little boy, I remember how much she loved romance. She once told me that first loves happen for a reason.”

“Was Blaine your first love?”

Kurt sighs, and looks at Finn directly. “I don’t even know if I loved Blaine at all. I think if you have to question whether you love someone or not, the answer is probably no.”

Finn gets up and decides to sit next to Kurt. He takes the robe from Kurt’s lap and folds it into as careful a parcel as he can, placing it on the coffee table. “I get that cheating sucks, but why are you so upset if you don’t love him?”

“I’m angry, not upset…” Kurt’s eyes are a patchwork of red. “Mostly I’m just scared.”

“Of being alone?”

“You know what I’m scared of.” Kurt sniffs again, and reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table. He blows his nose, and looks back down into his lap. “Blaine knew. He knew that the one person I wanted was the one person I’d never be able to have. Even if you were serious about being in a relationship with me, there’s just too much that could go wrong.”

Finn leans in so close his nose is almost touching Kurt’s cheek. “I am serious about this. Even if you keep trying to persuade me I’m straighter than a popsicle stick.”

Kurt pulls back. “It’s more to persuade _me_. You have to understand this is a lot to get my head around. You’ve spent the past three years being so insistent about being Rachel’s endgame that telling me you want a different future contradicts everything I thought I knew about you. It seems… I don’t know. It seems almost a little wrong?”

Finn reaches for Kurt’s hand. He laces their fingers together, and can’t tell which one of them grips more tightly. “Wrong?” he says, looking into Kurt’s eyes which are wide from shock, or fear, or a number of things Finn doesn’t dare hope about. “What’s wrong, the fact I know I want guys, or the fact I know I want you?”

Kurt smiles for the first time that evening. “Well, he finally said it!”

“It just, y’know. It makes sense.”

“You couldn’t have made sense before our parents married?” Kurt says, a little wry. “Before my dad decided to run for Congress?”

“Adam told me college was the best place to start taking off all the other labels people put on me. When I did, I realized that I loved you all along. You think I’m not kicking myself for being slow to realize this like I am to realize everything else in my goddamned life? Everyone was so sure about who I was in high school that nobody ever stopped to ask me!”

“What is it you want, Finn?”

Finn takes a deep breath, and cups Kurt’s jaw. “I want you to take a risk with me.”

Kurt gives the barest hint of a smile in return. “I don’t know if a risk/reward ratio applies here.”

“Leap and the net will follow, right?” Finn slides his hand from Kurt’s jaw to his shoulder. “That was what you said to me last spring. You didn’t think it was weird how jealous I was of Blaine? Everyone said it was ‘cause he was a better singer and a better leader. I didn’t care about that. I cared about the fact he took you away from me the moment you sung that awful duet.”

“Candles?” Kurt shudders. “ _Ugh_. So you’ve liked me that long?”

Finn nods. “I didn’t realize it. And now I do, I don’t think I can stop.”

Kurt presses at his eyes with the heel of his hand and tilts his chin up. “I never stopped loving you either,” he says. “When you freaked out on me in sophomore year, I told myself to stop loving you. I couldn’t. So I drew a line. I told myself, _two more years_. Two more years and you’ll only have to see his stupid face at weddings and funerals.”

Finn laughs. “Oops.”

“I know, right? Weddings and funerals my ass. We’ve lived together for five months, and while your Monday night dinners are the worst and you always leave wet towels in the tub…” Kurt looks away, his voice a little hesitant when he speaks. “Are you ready to make this official?”

“Yeah. I’d love to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me,” Finn says, the word not catching in his throat like he thought it would. “I think we should take it slow, though. This is big, and loving you probably isn’t enough to stop me from messing up.”

Kurt nods. “You’re not the only one worried he’ll mess up. How about I whip us up some homemade eggnog? We could cuddle up, pick out a movie, and…”

“Y-yeah,” Finn says. He follows Kurt through to the kitchen area where they work in tandem; Kurt fetches a saucepan and a glass bowl, and asks Finn to grab the eggs, sugar and vanilla. They don’t exchange any words as Kurt stirs the mixture, Finn stood behind him with one arm curled lightly around his waist.

When Kurt finishes, they sit back down on the couch, their bodies pressed so tightly together that Finn can feel Kurt’s body heat through the fabric of his own shirt.

“Okay, I…” Finn takes a sip of his eggnog. “I said I wanted to take things slow, but…”

Kurt leans in a little more. “I’ll try my best to give you whatever you want.”

Finn’s taken aback; it’s never been about what _he_ wants, and his brain feels like a swamp. “I want to sleep in your bed every single night so you won’t have to use that stupid boyfriend pillow ever again.” 

Kurt leans in so close that his lips brush Finn’s jaw. “I hear it’s polite to kiss someone before you take them to bed,” he says. 

Finn cups Kurt’s face in his hand. “Does that mean you want me to?”

Instead of saying something sarcastic, Kurt’s eyes just flutter shut. Finn takes a deep breath; there’s no going back after this. Kurt’s skin’s even paler than Finn’s own, marked with a scatter of freckles that stuck around long after the summer. When Kurt licks his own lips and lets out a small whimper, Finn gently angles their faces together. Their lips brush, Finn tasting the sugar from the eggnog on Kurt’s slightly sticky lips.

Kurt pulls away, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants. This time, he clutches at Finn’s shirt with both hands and his tongue traces the seam of Finn’s lips until they part for him, Finn placing one hand over Kurt’s chest where his heart’s drumming a steady beat.

“See?” Finn says, when they pull apart again. “Told you my kisses don’t miss.”

“It’s a good job you’re as handsome as you are humble,” Kurt says, and when Finn sticks his tongue out, Kurt laughs so hard that he sputters. Thick creases appear at the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head, still letting out the odd giggle when Finn draws them together again.

Finn doesn’t want to take it slow. Not when he’s on his back, the tiny couch meaning they can only fit if Finn folds his legs around Kurt, their bodies flush against each other. The couch fabric is rough against Finn’s back where his shirt’s riding up, but he doesn’t care. The first time Kurt rocks his hips up, Finn’s eyes fly open. He can feel exactly how much Kurt wants him, and when Kurt slips a knee between his thighs to part them a little wider, Finn stills Kurt by putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay with this?” Kurt says, his eyes soft with concern. 

“Yeah, this is amazing, but...” Finn pauses. “On our crappy couch? This sounds hokey, but shouldn’t we do it somewhere a bit more special?”

Kurt rolls his hips with one clear purpose. “Screw special.”

“Screw _you_ ,” Finn says. His laugh turns into a groan when Kurt works a hand between them.

“Mm.” Kurt’s lips latch on Finn’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt. “I’m working on it.”

\--

They make out on the couch for over an hour. Kurt’s shirt ends up halfway across the living area, and Finn’s somehow missing one sock by the time he takes Kurt’s hand in his, and they make the short trip to his bed. Finn goes to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face; it has little effect when he walks back into his bedroom and sees Kurt in bed wearing just his underwear, the covers pooling below the waistband. The sight makes his pajama pants so tight he’s pretty sure there’s not enough blood to keep his heart pumping.

“What happened to the layers?” Finn jokes.

“I don’t need them with you,” Kurt says with a smile. “C’mere and kiss me again.”

Finn does. He slips under the covers and turns on his side. “Does your father really own a shotgun?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “He only said that to scare Blaine. The only firearm in the Hudson-Hummel household is my old confetti gun.”

“We’re going to have to tell them. Mom, and Burt. And they’re going to freak.”

“And our friends. That conversation will be a three-drink minimum.”

Finn presses a kiss against Kurt’s forehead. “The people that matter will support us.”

Kurt is silent for several beats. “You might lose some friends, Finn.”

“Then they’re not worth having.”

Kurt sighs, and he turns so he’s facing the ceiling. “I’m the last person who’d ever push someone out of the closet before they were ready, but I won’t hide who I am. You’re such a big part of my life that I can’t hide that, either.”

Finn’s stomach drops at that. “You want me to put something on Facebook? Have some kinda party?”

“Any excuse for me to bake you that rainbow cake you’ve been begging me for,” Kurt says. He turns his head to looks at Finn deeply, the tips of his fingers stroking just under the edge of Finn’s sleep shirt. “If you’d told me back in freshman year that this would be my life, I would have said you were crazy.”

“What did you imagine?” Finn leans in and kisses Kurt again. “You thought I’d lay you down in a Greek meadow and feed you grapes while Céline Dion plays softly in the background?”

Kurt looks sly. “There was my whole cowboy fantasy after I saw _Brokeback Mountain_ , but mostly I just wanted to do this to you in the auditorium,” he says, and kisses the side of Finn’s neck. He slides his hand a little lower down Finn’s stomach, fingers trailing through the coarse hair he finds. 

“Oh my god,” Finn stutters out. His hips arch when Kurt’s fingers dip below the waistband of his sweats and his fingers curl loosely around the length of his dick. 

“That’s it. Lay back and relax for me,” Kurt says, squeezing lightly at the base. “Can I make you feel good?”

“Take these damn things off,” Finn says. “I want to feel you against me.”

Kurt murmurs his agreement, one hand holding Finn’s hip down and the other tugging off his sweats and underwear. He tugs at Finn’s shirt, their remaining clothes ending up on a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. Kurt’s body is put together so beautifully, his thighs thin enough for Finn to straddle him. Like this, Kurt’s dick is resting against the curve of his ass and Finn can kiss at the soft, sweet skin of Kurt’s neck and whisper against his ear.

“Good spot?” Finn says, rocking his hips down so they’re grinding again.

“Oh god yes,” Kurt breathes out.

“I think --”

Kurt grabs at Finn’s ass. “Don’t think,” he says. “If you start thinking, you’ll stop touching me. Which is a moot point as we’re in _your_ bedroom so the chances of finding decent lube here are about as likely a snowstorm in a desert.”

“You can suck a hot one, Kurt. Second drawer down.”

“If I suck a hot one, I won’t need any.”

The idea makes Finn so turned on he swears his teeth hurt, but that means he wouldn’t be able to feel Kurt’s body against his. They roll around together until Kurt’s on top this time, his hands stronger than Finn would have imagined as he’s pushed down into the mattress. His whole body shivers, from the way Kurt’s kissing his collarbone to the way the blankets fall away from his body in the draughty room.

“Think you can come like this?” Kurt says, managing to fumble for the bedside drawer and pull out the container of lube. He squirts some in his hand and slicks his palms together for a few seconds before he squeezes even harder, his grip twisting on each downstroke. 

Finn turns them both slightly on their side. He wants to be touching Kurt, too. He slides his hand down Kurt’s smooth chest and wonders if he should get more lube, but Kurt’s so turned on his dick is already leaking at the tip and Finn’s hand glides easily. Kurt’s making these super hot, barely audible moans under his breath, and _shit_ , it’s Finn’s name he’s saying over and over like some sort of prayer, and Finn’s never heard anything hotter in his life.

“Fuck… my God, Kurt.” Finn bites down on his lip when Kurt’s thumb presses against the slit of Finn’s dick, Kurt’s other hand gripping loosely at Finn’s hair. “I’m so close.”

“Mm, me too.” Kurt’s face falls against Finn’s chest, and he scatters a few kisses there. “I want to kiss you when I come.”

Finn drags himself up Kurt’s body to kiss him again, the kiss messier this time, and his eyes open wide in surprise when he feels Kurt come against his chest, groaning into his mouth as he works himself through it. Within seconds, he shifts his body so Finn’s dick brushes against his stomach and it’s even slicker. Kurt’s grip is tight, and his lips warm and soft, and Finn wants to both let go and stay here forever. When he can’t hold back any longer, Kurt eases him back with soft kisses that slow in time with Finn’s heart rate. Eventually, Kurt pulls away. 

“Nice sex hair, Kurt,” Finn says, ruffling it with his fingertips. 

Kurt’s neck’s already showing the bloom of a hickey, and the skin on his lower lip is raw and kiss-ruined. “Pot, kettle, black. Shall we get some sleep, Cowboy?” 

“ _Cowboy_?” Finn crunches up his nose. “I’m not liking that nickname.” 

“What about Stallion?” Kurt says. “You can mull that over while I clean myself up.” 

Finn’s all sticky too, but he’s pretty sure his legs won’t carry him to the bathroom. Instead, he watches Kurt get out of bed, his dick giving a pretty futile twitch at the way Kurt’s back curves into a firm butt and slender, strong thighs. “I got some tissues but can you toss me a washcloth too?” 

“You’re _disgusting_ ,” Kurt calls out, but tosses Finn one from the bathroom anyway.

\--

That night, Finn’s eyes close on their own accord. His mind is free of thoughts for the first time in weeks. He’s just drifting off into what he hopes will be a dreamless sleep when he’s awoken by a large bang, and a decidedly unmanly squeak from Kurt which goes right into his ear. It’s matched by the even higher-pitched squeak from the slender dark-haired girl standing in the doorway, one hand clutching the door frame and the other holding a sleeping bag.

“Holy incestuous Christ,” Santana says, dropping the sleeping bag to the floor.

Finn opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Santana?” Kurt says. “A minute, if you will?” His voice sounds eerily quiet. It seems to occur to him that he’s naked under the covers, as he hoists the blankets up to under their armpits.

“I’m going to need more than a minute. I’m going to need the number of every single one of Rachel’s therapists,” Santana says. “Let’s be honest, though. A minute’s far longer than Finn actually _takes_.”

“Oh shut up,” Kurt snaps. “You willingly had sex with him. It didn’t turn you gay, or break the bed at the Roadway Inn, or put you off potatoes for the rest of your life. It speaks a lot about your lack of humanity that you can’t even be kind to the guy who let you take his virginity and _still_ tried to make it about you.”

Santana doesn’t flinch. She walks into the room and perches on the edge of the bed. “So, did the quarterback live up to the fantasy?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I’m assuming you picked the lock with the underwire of your bra or something equally cliché, but _why_?” 

“Do I need a reason? My friendship is a gift.” 

“It needs re-gifting,” Finn says, with a glare. He’s fairly sure that her presence has something to do with her relationship with Brittany, but his stance with Santana has always been to give as good as he gets. “What the hell makes you think you can just turn up to our apartment?” 

“Brittany doesn’t want me around,” Santana says. “Where else would I go?” 

“To college, where you have your cheerleading scholarship?” Kurt says. 

“ _Did_ have my scholarship,” Santana says. She flops back on the bed, narrowly avoiding Kurt’s underwear. “Now I’m a dropout. I’m a failed writing career and sixty pounds away from being Lena Dunham. If Freshman Fifteen Finn can stick it out here, anyone can. I just need a place to crash.” 

Kurt scrubs at his temples. “You want to crash with two people you’ve done nothing but insult for the past four years?” 

“I’ll pay rent!” Santana says. 

“Fine,” Finn says. “You can stay here until you get a job or something, whether it’s dancing in a cage or doing infomercials for those Miche bags my mom loves. Don’t even think about being all _Gossip Girl_ and telling anyone. That includes Brittany.” 

“Miche bags?” Santana cackles. “You really _are_ gay.” 

“I’m like Brittany.” Finn shrugs. “I just like people.” 

“I honestly don’t care. We all thought you two were screwing around since the end of junior year anyway,” Santana says. “I’ll keep your dirty little secret, but the moment you turn this apartment into an imaginary garden and start arranging flowers, I’m getting you on _Dr. Phil_.”

Finn looks to Kurt. “Huh?”

“ _Flowers in the Attic_?” Santana says. “I’m not surprised you two haven’t read it. One of you can’t even read.”

“Funny, ‘cause I got an A on my last American Lit paper,” Finn says.

Santana laughs so hard she chokes. “You didn’t even know what a library _was_ until senior year!” After a few moments, she seems to regain her composure and springs off the bed. “I’ll be honest, you two make a lot more sense than Kurt and his cheating Hobbit. Apparently Blaine’s been watching _The Notebook_ on repeat and writing a proposal to try and win you back.” 

“Over my dead body,” Kurt says. 

“Look, Chris and Cathy. High school relationships just suck after high school. Not a single one of us managed to hang on to them. Even Mike and Tina broke up. You two are _family_. Sure, it’s creepier than a single shoe on a highway and sicker than a dog with food poisoning, but you can’t drift apart. Even if you’re miserable, you’ll always be tied together.”

“High praise,” Kurt mutters. “Good job misery loves company.”

“How’s Rachel dealing with this?” Santana says. “Stalking NYADA and screwing up Glee by leaving for Chicago before Sectionals made her even more unpopular. Who’ll pick up the pieces when her two best friends are busy making the beast with two backs?”

“Rachel knows,” Kurt says. “She supports us. You’d be surprised by how much she’s changed.”

This time, Santana does offer them a genuine smile. At least, genuine for her. “Having your dreams torn like a paper bag in the wind will do that to a person. Keep it in your pants when I’m around and I’ll be in your corner, too.”

\--

Finn gives Santana the option of sleeping in Kurt’s bed, or sleeping on the fold-out bed. After she settles down, it takes Kurt and Finn a while to drift off to sleep, knowing that even without Blaine and Rachel in their lives, they still won’t manage to stay free from drama. Kurt’s wearing a tank top and t-shirt under his pajama top, his layers and guard back up, at least temporarily.

“I suppose it’s not a secret anymore,” Finn says. “No coming out party for me. I can still get a rainbow cake though, right?”

Kurt laughs. “Always about the cake. You know Santana wouldn’t tell anyone, even after what happened between you in the past.”

“I know, but I don’t _want_ this to stay between us,” Finn says. “And not just because there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to keep my hands off you at Christmas.”

“Mm hm.” Kurt runs his finger down Finn’s bare chest. “Hope she likes being sexiled.”

“Kurt!” Finn laughs. “I want our friends to know about us. I want to go to the movies together, or go out for dinner. I want to be that dork who drives you out to Dayton to see all the Christmas lights and go to that place we saw on The Food Network that does that 20oz rib eye.”

“How is that any different from what we do already?” 

“It’s really not,” Finn says. “What if we went to Schoonover Observatory and looked at the stars?” 

Kurt sticks his tongue out. “We did that last year.” He leans in to kiss Finn, his hand stroking the side of Finn’s face. “I honestly don’t think anything needs to change. We just do what we did before, only with a lot more kissing.”

The next few days are taken up with Finn preparing for finals, and Kurt preparing for his performance at the NYADA Winter Showcase after word reached the faculty of his performance at _Callbacks_.

Kurt doesn’t win the Showcase. Finn waits for him outside the Round Room and can tell by his expression that he did well, but not quite well enough. When Finn kisses Kurt in front of Kurt’s classmates, he’s not particularly surprised that nobody even blinks an eye. Kurt disparagingly tells him the sophomore who won with a _creepy_ version of “Carol of the Bells” was probably banging the faculty, and they take Kurt’s mind off the disappointment by eating all the veal their hearts desire in an Italian restaurant.

\--

The following morning, Finn wakes to the cinnamon sweet smell of French toast. He opens his eyes to see Kurt in front of him, holding a steaming cup of coffee that smells like Christmas. He’s beyond sleep-mussed in his old _Cheerios_ shirt and dark red boxer briefs with skulls on that don’t quite match.

“Hey, you.” Finn pulls back the covers. “Something smells good.”

“Breakfast, or me?”

“Both,” Finn says. “I don’t get why coffee smells so good but tastes so bad. Is Satan around?”

“No, she’s at the diner this morning. Trial shift.” Kurt takes a sip of his coffee and sets it down on the bedside table. “She’s been flirting with Dani already. I tried to warn Dani, but...”

“Let’s sexile her more,” Finn says. “Maybe now she’s sorting something out you could cut down your hours there. I don’t want you to have to quit at Vogue, and I don’t think Isabelle would either.”

“What, you want me to be your trophy boyfriend?” Kurt says.

“I don’t like it when you work third shift,” Finn complains. “You’re too tired to do anything.”

“I’m not too tired to do anything now,” Kurt says.

“Yeah?” Finn grins, and pats the mattress. “C’mere, then.”

Kurt tears off his shirt immediately before crawling into Finn’s lap, straddling him so his thighs are on either side of Finn’s own. He wraps his arm around Finn’s shoulders to pull their bodies closer together. Finn’s lips still tingle every time their lips brush against each other, and the way Kurt tastes is still intoxicating despite the bitterness of the coffee he’s been drinking. Kurt’s skin seems even paler in the watery early morning light that’s filtering through the blinds, his hair falling down into his face and half-covering his eyes which remind Finn of the changing sky.

Kurt kisses Finn until he’s almost breathless, then moves to scattering kisses across Finn’s chest. Slowly, his plump lips work their way towards the waistband of Finn’s underwear and start to mouth at the fabric there, just to the edge of his dick.

“I can’t believe I haven’t done this yet,” Kurt says. He slips his palm between Finn’s closed thighs and nudges them apart a little wider. His fingers trace the crease of Finn’s thigh, just under the edge of his underwear, his tongue following the movement of his fingers. 

“Kurt, my god, you don’t have to --” Finn starts to say, but Kurt shushes him.

“Oh, but I _do_ ,” Kurt says. He presses a dry kiss over the head of Finn’s dick and looks up at Finn before he tugs down Finn’s underwear. He licks his lips and darts his tongue out to take a sure, steady lick along the shaft. Finn can feel the vibrations in his thighs when Kurt groans deep with pleasure in the back of his throat.

Finn’s not sure where to put his hands. He settles them on Kurt’s soft hair that still a little wet from his morning shower. He uses the other hand to cup Kurt’s jaw, watching Kurt’s lips wrap around him in a tight seal. His toes clench, and his hand tilts Kurt’s jaw up a little further until they’re making eye contact. Heat spreads through his limbs and builds in the pit of his stomach, and he can’t even warn Kurt to slow down before his thighs tremble and Kurt’s throat is bobbing around him, swallowing everything.

Spent, Finn falls back against the pillows. “Sorry. I’ll last longer next time. I tried to work on it, but…” Finn quiets his voice. “That humming thing you were doing. That was just…”

Kurt shuffles up the bed and kisses Finn sweetly just under his collarbone. Kurt shifts his hips so Finn can feel his hardness against his thigh. “I nearly came just by watching you; the way you felt, and the way you tasted. You were _perfect_.”

“‘Kay,” Finn says. He works his fingers into the slit in Kurt’s boxer briefs for just a moment before he tugs them down. Finn’s done this enough now to know exactly what touches drive Kurt crazy, and he starts by wrapping his thumb and forefinger around the base, his other fingers cupping Kurt’s balls. “Are you cool for me to try that on you?”

“What do you think, Captain Obvious? Just don’t use your teeth.”

“Check. No teeth,” Finn says. “Let me just take out my dentures.”

“Are you actively trying to make me _not_ want to have sex with you?” Kurt laughs. “It’ll never work, you doof.”

“Sex?” Finn pauses, his hand still on Kurt’s dick. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. If something has the potential to be awesome, I’ll give it a go, but…” Finn squints. “Butts, y’know?”

Kurt tries to look like he’s not laughing but fails. “Yes, Finn. _Butts._ If you don’t grab the lube within the next ten seconds and let me show you how much fun the prostate can be, you won’t be getting any sex _or_ French toast for a very long time.”

Their flight back to Ohio that weekend is a lot more pleasant than their flight out to New York was, way back in the summer. Kurt doesn’t take anything to calm him down, holding Finn’s hand in his in the quieter parts of the airport they walk through. They make the most of being in a city where few people gawp at them for showing affection in public. Finn knows that as brave as he’s trying to be, he’ll never feel comfortable holding Kurt’s hand in public in a place like Lima. They laugh and joke, and when the flight stewardess ask Finn if he wants a blanket, he thanks her and says his boyfriend would like an extra one, too.

 _Baby steps_ , he tells himself. He’ll get there. 

Finn’s mom picks them up from Port Columbus, standing in front of her beige PT Cruiser with a beaming smile that splits her face from ear to ear. “Boys! It’s so good to see you!” Carole says, and Finn doesn’t even protest when she flings herself at him in a bone-crushing hug and kisses him on the cheek. “Oh, there is so much less of him to hug. Kurt, haven’t you been feeding him?”

Kurt snorts. “He’d be on the next flight home if I didn’t, but he’s actually pretty good at feeding himself these days, too.”

“I work out a lot with my job,” Finn says. He doesn’t want to tell his mom he’s actually going to help out with the Christmas meal this year lest she collapse in shock. “Is Pancake at the neighbors?”

“Pancake?” Kurt squints. “Carole, did you replace Finn with a pet?”

Carole looks a little guilty. “Your old football coach found her outside the IHOP, and she doesn’t have time to look after a kitten. You won’t even notice after a few of your allergy meds. How are you boys?”

“Good,” Finn says as he stashes his and Kurt’s bags in the trunk. He’s going to need a lot of Benadryl over the holidays. “Really good. I think I decided on my major.”

Carole gets in the car and fastens her seatbelt. “Music education?”

“I’m pretty set on psychology, actually,” Finn says, taking the back seat next to Kurt. “Guess I’ve had enough high school drama to put me off teaching. At least until I wind up having kids of my own.”

“Psychology. Hm.” Carole’s voice turns a little flat. “I thought you were going to be a teacher like Mr. Schuester? Won’t he be disappointed?”

“I think he’s pretty happy Finn’s gone to college at all,” Kurt says. “Mr. Schue didn’t even want to be a teacher _himself_. I don’t think anyone who teaches at McKinley actually _does_.”

“What can you even do with a psychology degree?” Carole asks.

Kurt gives Finn’s hand a tight squeeze. “Jobs that require a lot more than four years at college, apparently. I always knew Finn was the brains of the operation. I think he’s enjoying it so much he’s in it for the long haul.”

“I made the Dean’s List,” Finn says, proudly. “I almost did as good as Kurt.”

Carole turns and smiles, although Finn can see that the wideness of her eyes is also due to shock. “My sweet, smart boys,” she says, turning on the radio. “It’s so good to have you home for the holidays.”

\--

Finn knows he’ll have to tell his mom that he’s made more lifestyle changes than losing weight, getting decent grades, and dressing a little smarter in Vogue vault hand-me-downs since he moved to New York. Upstairs, he discusses it with Kurt and they decide to wait until Burt’s left to go to a friend’s for poker night. They sit Carole down when she’s in a fairly good mood. She’s just finished watching _True Blood_ on DVD so Finn tasks Kurt with making them the good kind of hot cocoa. When Kurt brings through their drinks with a very fixed expression, Finn can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s marching off to a war he can’t ever win.

“Mom?” Finn clears his throat. “Momma? There’s something I need to tell you.”

His mom looks towards him with glassy eyes and Finn flinches. It was bad enough telling her he wanted to study a completely unemployable major, but this is worse. This is going to change every single hope and dream she’s had about his future.

“I’m a terrible parent,” Carole says, her eyes turning glassy. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you those German hamburgers when you were a baby. It’s all my fault!”

“What?” Finn says. “Why would you say that? You’re the best mom ever!” 

“It’s Mad Cow Disease, isn’t it?” Carole’s chest rises dramatically.

“No!” Finn takes a deep breath. It's not the right word to describe the way he feels, but it's the word his mom will understand the most. “I’m... bisexual, Mom.”

“Oh.” Carole seems to force out a smile. It’s the same expression she had on her face when Finn had told her he was thinking of eloping with Rachel. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

“And I’m not marrying Rachel. We broke up.”

Carole looks far more pleased about that admission. “That’s a very mature and responsible decision, Finn. I bumped into Hiram and LeRoy at the grocery store and they told me their Broadway baby was actually moving to Chicago for her first role. I’m sure she’ll be very successful, but I think the distance is far too much unless you’re absolutely sure she’s the right gi-- uh, person for you.”

“You aren’t freaking out?” Finn says.

“About what? Rachel moving to Chicago?” Carole squints.

“No. About me liking --” Finn swallows the lump in his throat. “About me liking guys.”

“You are my son. I love you unconditionally. I accepted Quinn when she was kicked out of her home, and I already have one son who likes boys. What’s the difference in having another one? You were so crazy about Rachel and Quinn that it comes as something of a shock, but that doesn’t mean I won’t support you.”

Finn exhales, and reaches for his hot chocolate. He feels so sick to his stomach it tastes even worse than the strong coffee Kurt tried to get him to drink during finals. Kurt shuffles a little closer to him on the couch. “Mom, do you get why Kurt’s here?”

Carole smiles. “Did he introduce you to a nice boy at college?”

“I found a nice boy back in high school,” Finn says, reaching for Kurt’s hand.

Kurt looks Finn in the eye. “It was only after high school he realized how _nice_ that boy was.”

Carole immediately sprays her mouthful of hot chocolate down the front of her blouse. “My goodness. I… I don’t know what to say,” she sputters, shaking her head. “It was always clear you two boys had a very special friendship, but this is the sort of thing politicians’ lives are ruined over! People were foolish enough to buy that Burt had a _baboon heart_. Goodness knows what they’d make of my son and my step-son dating each other!”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Finn shakes his head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I just don’t know if I can condone this behaviour,” Carole says with a sigh. “There are so many nice girls at your college looking for a handsome, athletic…”

“I don’t give a damn about some random nice girls,” Finn snaps at her. “What would you prefer, we snuck around and hid it from you? That I went through the rest of my life being miserable?”

“I…” Carole shakes her head. “No. I… I just… think I’m going to need some time to process this.”

Kurt curls his arm around Finn’s back. “Take all the time you need,” he says. “Just remember that if you love Finn unconditionally, your priority will be what makes him happy.”

Carole looks between them. “My priority right now is breaking out the Chardonnay,” she mutters. “How’s Blaine dealing with all this?”

“Not very well, but considering he cheated on me, I’m not really concerned about his feelings at this point in time,” Kurt says. “Santana’s moved into the apartment with us, and her and Rachel have both been supportive.”

“Puck will be cool about this, too,” Finn says, mentally adding _if I ever see the guy again_.

For a while, they’re all quiet until Carole pipes up, “So. Terrible season for the Browns.”

Finn nods. “Totally. What d’you think, Kurt?”

“About the Browns? I have no idea. The only thing I like about football right now is Rob Gronkowski. Now _that’s_ a tight end.”

“Gronk?” Finn snorts. “He’s awesome, but isn’t Tom Brady more your type?”

“Julian Edelman, if you must know, and what the heck is _that_?” Kurt says, pointing to the small bundle of gray fur that pads over to Carole and meows like a creaking door.

Finn promptly sneezes. “Mom, your cat looks like an Ewok.” He sneezes again. “Can you grab me my Allegra for me?”

In spite of everything, Carole smiles between the pair of them. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, with what Finn knows is her soon-to-be-wine-mom expression. “I can’t lie and tell you boys I’m overjoyed, but there's not a lot I can do to change it, either. I think it might be a wise idea if I told Burt about this.” She glares at Finn. “And you’re paying my dry cleaning bill. This blouse is brand new!” 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Finn actually finds he enjoys his sip of cocoa this time. “Got it, Mom. I love you.”

Carole doesn’t quite meet his eye. “I love you boys, too.”

\--

Later on, Finn and Kurt go to the Lima Mall to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. They stop off at Pat’s for donuts on the way home like they did in high school and walk around eating them and looking at the crappy Christmas lights. Finn insists that they’re tastier than the weird flavors they have like _green tea_ and _lavender rose_ that they do at the shop they live above in New York, but he’s really not fooling anyone. 

It’s late when they enter the house; it doesn’t quite feel like their home, now, and Carole’s already started to redecorate Kurt’s room although Finn’s still has his old plaid sheets on the bed. After putting down their bags and hanging up his and Kurt’s coats, Finn walks over to Kurt. He places his hands on Kurt’s cheeks, still cold from their walk earlier, and draws him in for a kiss. Kurt’s normal scent that smells like the ground after it rains has been replaced by the fake pine scent from his mom’s Yankee Candles, but he still smells amazing.

“Been thinking about kissing you all day,” Finn says.

“What else are you thinking about?” Kurt flirts at him.

“Candles,” Finn says, taking another sniff.

Kurt raises his eyebrow. “It was an awful song, and an awful duet. Get over it.”

“Nah. _Candles_ , candles. The kind you burn,” Finn says, wrapping his arm around Kurt’s waist and tugging their bodies together until their foreheads touch. “It could have gone so much worse with Mom. It didn’t exactly go great, but…”

“The world’s still turning,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, it is.” Finn pulls back a little to look at Kurt’s eyes, a soft gray in the darkness of their hallway. “Gravity’s pretty great, and not just ‘cause it helps your hair stay up.”

Kurt laughs. “If you want to defy gravity, I think I can find a way.”

“Always.” Finn kisses him and pulls back a little, rubbing at his neck as they walk through to the den. “I can’t wait to cuddle up with you, but I gotta string all this popcorn first. Rach never told you how seriously I take all this holiday stuff, did she?”

“I had a hunch.” Kurt bops Finn on the nose. “I never knew you were so keen on channeling your inner Martha Stewart.” 

“Popcorn wreaths are awesome. The birds can eat ‘em so they don’t get hungry. Can I call dibs on trimming the outdoor tree?” 

“You call dibs by default. You’re the only one tall enough to reach the top.”

Kurt reaches for Finn’s hand and they walk across the den to the open cardboard boxes of decorations, slightly dusty from their eleven months spent in storage. Finn hopes his wreath turns out better than the Thanksgiving muffins he tried to attempt. He looks towards Kurt, who’s poring through the book of cheesecake recipes Finn got him for his birthday in senior year, and thinks that he’s so content that even if the world _did_ stop turning, he probably wouldn’t even notice.

On Christmas Eve, Finn and Kurt go back to McKinley to watch the New Directions -- or the _New_ New Directions as Rachel calls them -- perform their Christmas concert. Finn’s hand stings from the brofist he gives Puck, and the two waste no time catching up with the promise to get together for a video gaming and pizza-eating marathon on December 26th. It’s beyond awesome to know that Puck’s given up on Cali, and Finn’s hoping he can drag him out to New York. He’s also pretty reticent about what happened in California, and Finn’s determined to get the whole story out of him.

“Seriously, come crash on the couch,” Finn says. “Santana’s pretty much living at Dani’s and you won’t believe how awesome our apartment is. We even have a waffle maker!” 

“Awesome, bro!” Puck says, with a bright grin. “Let’s tip the straight to gay ratio back in our favor.” 

Kurt sidles up to Finn’s side and places his arm around Finn’s back. “Not exactly, Noah,” he says, in a way that makes his intentions more than clear.

“Damnit, you two,” Puck says, then shoves lightly at Finn. “You could have told me, dickhead.” 

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Kurt says. “At least, officially.” 

“I still owe Quinn fifty bucks,” Puck grumbles.

“That’s it?” Finn says. “I’ve just come out to my best friend, and all he can say is that he owes Quinn fifty bucks? Dude, that’s not cool!” 

“Whatever. I’ve spent the last six months in Cali. Even the dogs out there are gay, and given you’ve had moon eyes for your brother since the end of junior year? Not exactly a shocker. Just keep it in your pants when I’m around, ‘cause it was bad enough watching you drool over Rachel. How long have you been on the downlow?”

Kurt’s mouth gapes open. “We have _not_ been secretly banging each other.” 

“Are you happy?” Puck says, looking at Finn. 

Finn laughs. “Disgustingly so.” 

Puck grins, and points to the side of the stage. “Awesome. I’m happy for you guys, too. Look, I have to warn you… these guys are without a coach _and_ a choreographer after Rach flew out to find an apartment in Chicago and Mr. Schue did some teacher leaders bullshit in Washington. Prepare yourself for an even suckier performance than the first round of American Idol.”

“At least there’s no crazy love triangles this time,” Finn says. 

“Apart from my brother,” Puck says. “Guess it’s a Glee thing.” 

Finn blinks. “You have a _brother_?” He pokes Puck in the side. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

Puck opens his mouth to respond, but The New Directions take to the stage, cutting him off. Blaine and Sam are stood in the middle, dressed in gold waistcoats and tight red pants. The rest of the group stand behind -- Finn can see the now-seniors as well as several new faces. Artie looks miserable, flanked by a blonde girl with a super pinched face that has _head cheerleader_ written all over her. He assumes the good-looking guy with a shaved head and light brown skin is Puck’s brother, based on his swagger alone. 

Sam winks at the crowd, introduces them, and then the music starts up.

_You don't notice me but it's alright_  
_I'm just a guy who wishes that I could be your man someday_  
_Yeah a picture paints a thousand words it's true_  
_But it's still not enough for how I feel about you_

“Puck!” Finn hisses. “He’s singing Keith Urban?”

“Dude, you know Keith Urban?” Puck laughs. “Seriously?” 

“What? My mom likes him. Shit, this is _terrible_.”

Blaine walks in front of Sam and takes over the vocals, and the music changes to the chorus of a song that -- up until now -- Finn greatly enjoyed with the rest of the group joining in and clapping their hands in unison.

_(Hey!)_  
_(Ho!)_  
_I don't think you're right for him._  
_(Hey!) Look at what it might have been_

“Who the hell would mash up Keith Urban and The Lumineers?” Finn says, and laughs far too loudly when Blaine throws an icy glare in his and Kurt’s direction as he spits out the line _you’re my sweetheart_.

“This is bad,” Kurt says. “This makes “Candles” sound like “Bring Him Home”.”

_I wanna put you in a song, oh oh oh_  
_Well I'd sing about your smile and your pretty blue eyes_  
_The way your hair shimmers in the sunlight_

“He’s not wrong though,” Finn whispers. “Your eyes _are_ pretty.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” Kurt says. “Yours are gorgeous too.”

Puck coughs into his fist. “Gag me. Are you two always this cutesy?”

“We’re the cutesiest,” Kurt says, brightly. “I wonder what they’ll do next? I’m hoping for “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”, personally.” 

Blaine and Sam finish their duet, and the guy that looks like Puck’s brother moves to the front of the stage with a girl with pretty hair who’s scary thin. A guy who’s heads taller than both of them heads to the drums, and the beat for “Just Can’t Get Enough” by Depeche Mode starts up. The tall guy’s bashing the cymbals so furiously Finn’s afraid they’re going to fall off.

“History repeats itself,” Kurt mutters. “I hope your brother’s wrapping it up before he goes around sowing his Puckerman oats.”

The performance finishes after several more songs where Blaine either sings a solo or a duet, with Artie looking more and more miserable as they go through. Afterwards, they mingle for a bit. Tina folds her arms over her chest and refuses to talk to Finn and Kurt because she’s _Team Blaine_. Mercedes and Sam look a little conflicted, but say they’re happy for them both. Artie surprises absolutely nobody by telling Finn he’d be _up on that too_ , and Mike and Brittany quietly smile like they knew all along. 

“You look so dashing in that gray sweater, Finn!” Rachel says. She’s flown in from Chicago for a few days, and in her dark lipstick and black dress, she looks more like Shelby than ever before. “I’m so happy for both of you. Kurt, the Broadway blogs said your Showcase performance was incredible. Thank you for showing me there’s more than one way to be a star.”

“There definitely is,” Blaine mutters, not looking at Finn in the eye.

“Interesting set choice, Blaine,” Finn says. He needs to be the mature one in this, partly because if Blaine _had_ been more mature, there’s a good chance his cheating ass would still be dating Kurt. “The slowed-down version you did of “Jealous Guy” was, uh…”

Kurt tugs at Finn’s elbow. “C’mon, Cowboy. You’re cooking family dinner for us tonight, remember?”

Blaine turns his head and scowls at Finn, his usually warm brown eyes as cold as steel. “Family dinner?” he says, tugging at his bow tie with his hand. “That’s what we’re calling it these days?”

“You didn’t have a problem rooting for Cher and Josh in _Clueless_ ,” Kurt points out.

“Do your parents know?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah.” Finn wraps an arm around Kurt’s waist and tugs him close in a way that’s maybe a little more possessive than necessary. “Any plans for the holidays? We’re going to drive to Dayton later. See some Christmas lights, sing some carols, and go on a cookie walk. Come home and warm up by a roaring fire. Sounds good?”

“How _wholesome_.” Blaine shakes his head. “Am I the only one seeing how immoral this is?”

“Is it more or less immoral than cheating on your boyfriend?” Finn says, and smirks when Blaine rubs at his cheek. “Black eye’s healing up nicely, by the way.” 

Blaine looks over to where Sam is, and Finn doesn’t even want to start pointing out the irony of _Blaine_ crushing on a straight guy after the hell he put Kurt through. “So, Rachel? What did you think of my performance schedule over winter break? If I learned anything from you, it’s that hard work makes success. After all, _you_ got a role before Kurt and didn't even need college!”

“Oh, Kurt’s very successful at NYADA. He’s the first freshman who received an invite to the Winter Showcase in years,” Rachel says. She gives Finn a quick stage wink and smiles. “Go easy on them. Some of them are barely fifteen, Blaine. Sectionals have been and gone, so I think we should just let them have fun over the holidays while they have the chance.”

“Okay.” Blaine looks most unconvinced of this. “I’ll work on some group numbers. Maybe something from _Jekyll & Hyde_, if Marley’s voice holds up. Jake came up with some great choreography for “Do the Strand”, too!”

“Lovely,” Rachel says, trying to hold back a laugh. “Any news on your college applications?”

“Oh, just a little place called Carnegie Mellon,” Blaine says, his cheeks pinking up a little. “You’ve shown me there’s no real need to be in New York, and Pittsburgh has such a rich cultural history. Zachary Quinto said it was a four-year playground.”

Finn smiles with relief, and he’s fairly sure Blaine notices. “Well. Good luck, Blaine.”

Blaine nods, and mumbles his thanks before he walks across to Sam, the pair of them soon giving each other a high five. A fairly large part of Finn suspects that this will be the last time he ever sees Blaine Anderson. At least, he sure hopes so, although a tiny part of him wonders if Blaine will end up being the guy trying to ride on Rachel and Kurt’s coattails in five years’ time..

“I didn’t want to say this in front of Blaine, but…” Kurt starts.

“If you do change your mind and decide to shoot for a college in New York, let us know. As the song goes, three's the magic number,” Finn says. “It sucks that you’re all the way over in Chicago.”

Rachel smiles. “Oh, I fully intend on making the most of my father’s air miles. I want you boys to have your privacy, but -- you really mean that?” she says, one eyebrow raised. “Because I seem to remember Finn and I cohabited for one _night_ , and ran into more than a little trouble.”

“It’s cool,” Finn laughs. “ I went to the dollar store and got one of those plug-in things that makes the place smell like a pine forest. You wouldn’t even guess I was pooping!”

Rachel’s cheeks turn a little pink. “I’m sorry about my immaturity in senior year, but things worked out well, for me and my autobiography alike. Whoever would have thought that my civil restraining order would be the best thing that ever happened to me?”

Kurt grins. “You’re a little wrong there, Molly.”

Rachel pouts her bottom lip out a little. “I am?”

“Just a little,” Finn says, entirely sure of who he is and what he wants for the first time in his life. “I’m pretty sure your civil restraining order was the best thing that ever happened to _me_.” 


End file.
